Quintessence
by Mercurial Weather
Summary: Quintessence: bright and curious Albus Dumbledore is not cut out for a life of house chores, minding his younger siblings and writing boring dissertations that pay the rent. He wants to travel the world gathering knowledge that helps him understand the very essence of magic, which surely is not found in the mundane. But he soon finds out that love is the greatest magic of all.
1. Dual

Chapter 1: Dual: Light and Dark

"_And there are two kinds of good, one that is truly good, and one that appears to be good because it is good in some respect, but is not truly good because it is not good in every respect. Just so, there are two kinds of evil, one that is truly and absolutely evil, and one that is apparently and in some respect evil but in reality, absolutely good. Therefore, love and desire and pleasure regarding a true good are praiseworthy, and love and desire and pleasure regarding an apparent but false good are blameworthy." From the dissertation Quaestiones Disputatae De Malo 'Disputed Questions On Evil' by St. Thomas Aquinas (1269-1272?)._

Hermione asked testily: "Ronald Bilius Weasley what exactly do you mean when you say you lost the first few pages of the letter?"

Ron answered unapologetically: "It means I don't know where they are. They were right here just a minute ago, but you have so many papers laying on the table and then there are the pizza boxes..."

A vein began pulsing in Hermione's forehead: "My certification exam is in six months, I barely have time to prepare as it is. Why with work being as hectic as it has been lately and then having to return home and study until I literally fall sleep over the books... Having to put away my books or cook fancy dinners would be an unnecessary waste of precious time, which is why I don't..."

"I dunno why you are so stressed out. I'm doing most of the chores and we are having that Muggle pizza every other day. Six months seem like plenty of time to prepare. Besides, I bet you'll ace it."

Hermione inhaled deeply and Ginny decided that perhaps it was better to intervene before her big brother got a divorce. She asked: "Do you want us to try to go through the papers once more? We might have overlooked something."

Hermione denied: "It's OK Ginny, we've already gone through them twice. The pages are gone… It's bad enough that you opened a letter which was not addressed to you, but this..."

Ron scowled and said: "It was addressed to Mrs. Granger-Weasley and Mr., just like Gringotts' statements and the Floo Network bills. How was I supposed to know that the name that came after _and Mr. _was not mine?"

She picked up the envelope and showed it to him: "Did you try reading the letter? It says Mrs. Granger-Weasley and Mr. Harry Potter, Ron, it's there in black and white."

"Well, Harry doesn't live here, luv. How was I supposed to know that dumb owl was going to deliver a letter to my house that wasn't addressed to me?" Then he turned towards his friend Harry looking for support.

Harry Potter didn't want any part of the discussion. He'd had enough confrontation to last him two lifetimes. And he hated being in the middle of one of Hermione's and Ron's rows. That was the least favorite part of their friendship. He said conciliatory: "Come on, Hermione, it was an honest mistake. He says he is sorry. You've talked with the executor of the will and he explained what he knew of Mr. Doge's intentions regarding the diaries and the letters of Albus Dumbledore. He wanted us to go through them and come to a decision of what to do with them. Why don't we just start reading what we have right here?" He signaled the pile of diaries and a rather long introductory letter: "It seems we have plenty to start with."

Hermione sighed: "There's quite a lot, isn't it? It's going to take forever to read it. I have my certification and you, Harry, have the Auror supervisor examinations…" She moaned: "I don't know how we are going to manage!"

Ron took her hands: "Then don't do it, luv, this is a terrible imposition. The last one of a really long list of rubbish that Dumbledore threw our way. So screw him, luv! He never trusted us to tell us the whole story face to face when he was alive. Even if it would have helped us stay alive while fighting a bloody dark wizard! Merlin knows he was a secretive man. He liked to keep his cards close to his chest, so let his secrets die with him. Let's burn the whole lot of diaries and be done with it! Honestly, the man doesn't deserve you two stressing over him."

As the dust had settled over the Wizarding War and the reconstruction efforts had begun, Ron's take on the actions of Dumbledore had gotten sourer and sourer.

Harry swung his head from side to side: "Mate, that is one point about which we have agreed to disagree, you have your opinion on the man, and I have mine."

Ron snorted: "I don't know mate. You are about to become a father, tell me, what would you think of someone that did to your kid the same Dumbledore did to you? Would you let him, mate? 'Cause I know that if someone tried to do that to my niece or nephew, I'd grab my wand and just..."

Ginny intervened once more: "Enough Ronald Weasley, Harry and Hermione want to honor Mr. Doge's dying wishes and Dumbledore's memory. And my husband has asked for my opinion, so we are going to read through the papers and, if you cannot listen to it respectfully, you may as well leave."

Ginevra Molly Potter was the Weasley offspring that was more like her mother, perhaps because of that her brothers, though they were all older than her, listened to her.

Ron agreed grumpily: "Do what you want, but I'm staying. This is my home, you know?"

Hermione sneered: "We know, that's why you misplaced the first few pages of the letter..."

"Hermione, please, Gin is right, there's no point in fighting. Let's just read what we have."

She conceded with a big sigh and began reading.

* * *

I felt wasted and angry. I felt cheated by life from what I saw as my rightful place in the world. So the question of changing the past took on a more serious tint. I started to look for the answer, but with the added focus and the added dangers that all adult pursuits of such dark secretive business entail. Since I couldn't fulfill my curiosity through the usual legal channels, I tried unusual ones.

I'd better say borderline illegal, rather than unusual. Any wizarding town that has more than two buildings in it has a store or business of some ill-repute to where those who dabble in the Dark Arts can turn to for purchasing supplies and catching on the latest gossip. Not even Godric's Hollow, a somewhat scholarly wizarding town, was the exception to that rule. It was coming out of one of such places that I met Gellert Grindelwald for the first time in my life.

The shabby shack near the woods, where an even shabbier old wizard called Dimas Latron peddled his trade of selling homemade mead, suspicious spell components and off-beat books of somewhat questionable origins and even worse intent, was definitively not the sort of place where you expected to run into the neighbors. In fact, Chez Latron was the kind of place where, if you still clung to any semblance of respectability, you prayed not to meet with anyone, least of all an acquaintance.

Back then I still clung to the appearance of respectability like a castaway clings to driftwood. Ariana's care was costly both in time and galleons. My mother could not leave her alone long enough to retain employment, if she had ever intended to while she lived. What little my father had left was already spent by the time I was fourteen and began supporting my family. A fierce pride in our family's self-righteousness, in spite of outward appearances to the contrary, was the sole patrimony my parents had left me. Which is precisely why I needed to go to a secondhand Dark Arts bookstore near sundown and why I retreated from the place at a brisk pace; using the least traveled road that passed near the shack.

You might imagine my surprise at running into an automobile and, worse, at being hailed by the driver of the vehicle as if I were his long lost cousin. I was the only one on the road, still I chose to pretend that I hadn't seen the driver waiving at me and resumed walking at an even brisker pace than before.

Behind me sounded a muted: "_Sonorus_" that was followed by a very loud: "HEY YOU, THE REDHEAD BOY!"

It was impossible to ignore that the shout was directed at me; or the fact that the shouter had just enunciated a charm, which necessarily meant he was a wizard. I stopped walking wishing I could melt into the ground. The car caught up with me and the young man driving it killed the engine, took off his googles revealing a pair of piercing blue eyes and shouted: "NEED A RIDE?"

I frowned covering my ears and said tersely: "You've got my attention, there is no need to shout."

The boy had a crumpled up parchment in his hand, he took a charcoal stick out of a little leather pouch hanging from his waist, wrote on the paper and then handed it to me. On the front there was a Ministry warning: _"To whom it may concern: we have received intelligence that the Amplifying Charm has been performed at eighteen minutes past seven this evening in a Muggle-inhabited area by an unidentified underage wand user. Should this be the case, take this as a warning advising said underage user to cease and desist from further infractions. Refusal to comply will be met with swift action. In case the charm was performed by an adult, kindly disregard this appeal…_"

On the back of the parchment the handwriting was a bit of puzzle. It had big slightly right-slanting letters with round o's, pointed r's, perfectly centered dots on the i's and long top crosses on the t's. I had started studying graphology back then. As I've said, I was rather bored and we all need our hobbies. In any case, the combination of all those characteristics was intriguing. The note said: _Sorry, I rather not risk another infraction, I don't think they'll send the Aurors, but why risk it? I'm guessing you don't want to draw the Ministry's attention either. Would you mind?_ There was a hasty but rather good sketch of a hand pointing a wand to a throat. I looked up and the boy was staring at me with a mirthful grin. Sighing despondently I pointed my wand to his neck and muttered: "_Quietus._"

"Thank you. Apparently the Spout-hole has decided to start enforcing his law of no magic use for those under seventeen. That rule was laxer last time I visited. Frankly, I don't know why his initiative for a more astringent application was not met with riots. Back home he would have been thrown out of office just for suggesting it. Every young hot-blooded wizard is bound to cast a spell once in a while."

I looked at the boy with a raised eyebrow: "As it happens, I supported Minister Spavin's initiative."

The mirthful grin curled up into an insolent smirk: "Did you, now? How very British to enforce a law almost fifteen years after first passing it by issuing these ridiculous warnings. I don't know if I should be appalled by such waste of ink and parchment or admired by such…" He stopped as if looking for the right word, after a brief pause, he shrugged and added: "...Phlegm."

I said coolly: "Well you, sir, should be grateful for our British phlegm and for our ridiculous regulations, if you had full use of your wand or if I were as rude to visitors as you are as a visitor, you'd be receiving a notice from my seconds; that or a spanking, not a warning from our Ministry."

He was wearing a braided dark red medium length atilla jacket with golden braids and golden buttons, a matching pelisse carelessly slung over his right shoulder, white cavalry pants with Austrian knots and black Hessian booths. He passed his leg over the car's door and landed gracefully on the dirt road. He was tall, taller than me. He tilted his head like some birds of prey do: "And you, sir, should be grateful I don't have unrestricted use of my wand, if I did, you'd be squirming on the floor, begging me to stop."

That was our first duel. I made a wide round gesture with my wand and cast an anti-scrying and anti-location circle surrounding us, one powerful enough that would fool the age-trace and wide enough so we could fight comfortably.

I came up with that spell to get away with my own underage duel at Hogsmeade against Thaddeus Nott for calling that Hufflepuff girl you fancied a Mudblood. What was her name, Elphias? I think it was Florence Moore or Florence Micawber. She was tutoring you in Herbology. What did happen to her? Give me a minute… I think I remember: she went on an exchange program and ended up married to that magizoologist from Castelobruxo. Yes, I think she is one of the people who can help you prevent the dragon pox outbreak. Her contact information is in the list, she uses her husband's name nowadays, but she is a widower, Elphias. She was glad when I wrote her, she remembers us both.

Oh, this mind of mine keeps wandering. I wonder if that seventh year Slytherin I dueled would have cast the anti-trace spell I handed him, if he had suspected how badly he was going to be beaten by a fifth year old Gryffindor. My triumph backfired, afterwards everyone was convinced that it was I who fancied Florence. She was two years older than us, but I guess I impressed her enough that she took it upon herself to find out I liked lemon curd trifle and, from that day until she went on her exchange, I received an owl carrying a cupful of the dessert for the afternoon tea in the common room. Frankly, I found the whole affair rather embarrassing. I had only been trying to help you and you didn't speak to me for a month. That was the longest we ever fought Elphias, I was desolated.

That should have been enough to dissuade me from ever using that spell again. But I am a bit of a hothead under some circumstances. Though, in my old age, I've learnt to find my center and stay calmed. I wonder if young Albus would have cast that anti-trace spell at all if he had suspected what would be the outcome of that first duel with Gellert Grindelwald. That time it backfired too.

The boy in the Hussar uniform understood my intentions almost immediately, he clicked the heels of his booths, adopted the accepted combat stance and with a brief bob of his head said: "Your name, sir. I cannot honorably hurt someone without knowing their name."

I smiled with my own courteous salute: "Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, at your service. You don't have to worry about hurting me. I doubt you can. And, though I fully intend to teach you some manners, I don't want to hurt you either. Hence the anti-trace circle. Since you are a minor, I'll give you the advantage of not using offensive spells. Your name, sir, to make my say binding."

"I am Gellert Grindelwald _Ispán_ and _Gyula _warlock of _Nurmengard Vár. _I bow to no man, sir, for I'm only at the service of a higher cause. I will take no condescension from you, Monsieur Dumbledore, or from anyone else." He looked down at me inclining his head ostentatiously: "Side by side you look quite…younger than me. And I'm an accomplished duellist. I won't use offensive spells either."

I laughed: "Brevity is the soul of wit. And, if neither of us uses offensive spells, are we then to stand staring at each other all evening inside this circle, Monsieur Grindelwald? I'm expected back home."

He guffawed, with a blustery laugh that shook even the air around us: "Since you favor brevity, I'll make sure to end this in short order. Your hand, if you please, Monsieur Dumbledore, we will make the standard binding vow: verbal enchantments, no seconds, wands only, until one loses his wand…"

"I must disagree, sir. You insulted my homeland and such offense demands bigger reparations. If it is all the same to you, I prefer non- verbal casting. I can also cast wandless, if need be. Unless, of course, the _Ispán_ and _Gyula_ warlock of _Nurmengard Vár_ can only cast a spell by waving his wand while giving away his next move by shouting it to his opponent's face… Though that would hardly be what we British would consider an accomplished duellist. That may mean something else in your country."

He inhaled harshly and his eyes flashed. In the twilight his eye heterochromia became apparent: "Now you've insulted me. It's your funeral, Monsieur Dumbledore, so we'll dance to your tune. Then we'll duel without seconds, non-verbal, wandless if need be, but no physical contact, until one draws first blood, without using offensive spells as defined by the _International __Wizarding Duel Confederation Manual_. If there is any doubt as to the usage of an offensive spell, we agree to submit our wands to _Priori Incantatem_. Is that agreeable?"

I shook his hand: "It is, we have an agreement, Monsieur Grindelwald."

Do you remember, Elphias, such stupidity, such trust in a stranger's honorability we used to have back then? We made the standard binding vow for duels, adding the promise of not using offensive spells.

* * *

Ron whistled: "Standard binding vow for duels!? Yeah… that sounds pretty stupid..."

Harry, having done more dueling than the average modern wizard, agreed with his friend. He had been forced to undergo a mockery of polite dueling by a dark wizard intent on killing him since he was a baby. He couldn't very well understand why Dumbledore would duel so politely with another dark wizard. But, then again, Harry knew who Gellert Grindelwald was and what he would become and Albus Dumbledore at seventeen had not found out yet.

Ginny shushed Ron.

Ron frowned: "Hey! You can't shush me in my home!"

Ginny retorted: "I can too!"

Before the discussion could devolve into a full on can-not-can-too sibling brawl, Hermione cleared her throat, the Weasley brother and sister went silent and she carried on reading.

* * *

Against the setting sun we dueled. Gellert drew first, he was always quick with the wand. He cast another circle, this one of fire. A protective fire ring is quite a sneaky spell to cast for a non-verbal wizard duel as fire rings can be used for a wide variety of purposes. Here is a trick to identify the nature of the fire: The color can aid you in figuring out the gemstone that burns in it. Yellow citrine or merchant's stone attracts prosperity so a yellow fire circle may be cast to protect from financial misfortune. Aquamarine blue protects you at sea. Greenish gray actinolite protects from disease.

The fire ring Gellert cast was a bright topaz blue and topaz means fidelity. A fire circle that uses topaz in its components won't let anyone but those loyal to you cross it. Upon a flick of his wand the circle began to dwindle and he cast a shield charm to push me into the flames. Aside from a physical component, a stone, a fire ring also includes a jinx as part of it. According to the Duel Manual said curse is not considered an offensive spell. So he showed slyness from our very first encounter.

Now, magic cannot make an object sentient, despite what magical objects like The Sorting Hat may make you think. I think that the computer era allows us to explain far easily how it is that magical objects work, the short answer is that they follow algorithms, complex, very complex algorithms. But neither wizards nor non-magical human beings have been able so far to create what could be rightfully called artificial intelligence. So what is required to defeat a magic fire circle is to understand what loyalty means to the algorithm used in that spell.

As anyone who has tried to tackle the big issues (Life, Death, Divinity, etc.) can tell you, it is far easier to define complex concepts like Loyalty by what they are not, than it is to try to give a positive definition of them. In the standard spell those loyal to you are those who do not seek to harm you or thwart your endeavors. Gellert wasn't using a personalized version of the spell back them. I bear the partial blame for the one he developed later on to devastating effects.

What did I do? Nothing. I took a backward step emptying my mind from all ill thought about my opponent and played on the good will that I had already began to feel towards the guy. Crossing the fire I also did exactly what he wanted me to do. It worked and I crossed the circle unscathed.

He frowned: "You've managed to trick the circle."

I grinned: "Not at all. There is no trick: I told you I mean you no harm, Gellert Grindewald and I'm as good as my word." Then I cast _Expecto Patronus_ and said: "But, as I also said, I am going to teach you some manners...for your own good, of course."

My phoenix Patronus charged against him. I immediately cast _Gelidis_ on a patch of earth behind him, covering Gellert's retreat path with ice.

There are only two spells involving fire that are not considered offensive by competitive duel regulations: one he had already used and, even though it is dangerous, the fire it cast cannot melt ice. The other one is the rather obscure _Ignis Penates Sunt_ to conjure a flame for the household ancestors. And, of course, I wasn't expecting him to know it, let alone use it, but he did.

The ice turned into water and with that water he conjured a cloak of fog _Lacerna_. He was indeed quick with the wand, he immediately cast _Expelliarmus._

I couldn't see him so I couldn't evade him. Few minutes into the duel I had lost my wand. He came out of the fog and cast his own Patronus, a bird too, though it looked like a scrawny vulture. I couldn't be completely sure as Patronus have no colour, but I thought it was an Augurey.

I didn't have time to ponder. I was in a tight spot, so I needed to think fast. You know, Elphias, some of my best work is done under pressure. It is with my back against the wall that I really shine. While evading his Patronus by casting a wandless _Protego_; I cast _Accio_ to call forth some needles and thread I had in my pouch. In rapid succession I cast the duplicating spell _Geminio _several times_; _and then I used _Wingardium Leviosa_ to make a swarm of needles float around him.

He knew if any of them pricked him the duel would be over. He yelled as he turned one way and the other trying to use a shield charm: "You can't use needles. All use of weaponry is considered an offensive spell."

I cast _Transuo_ and the needles and thread came at him from all directions and began stitching his clothes into a neat little bundle. While that happened I calmly explained: "Technically all household magic is considered neutral when used for its intended purpose. That is why your fire spells weren't cheating. Though I think duel regulations are wrong, a fire ring is a dastardly way of slipping a jinx under the rug. I dread to think what may have happened to me, if I had crossed that ring with hatred in my heart. Good for both of us, I'm a really nice person." In no time he was bound. I smiled wickedly: "And a lawful duellist, so as long as I don't touch your skin with the needles, this is not an offensive spell. Let's give those flashy clothes an update, hussar uniforms are so last season."

The cage of thread around him tightened, his wand slipped from his hand. He cast _Perrumpo _non-verbally and wandless on himself and with an angry roar he tensed his muscles and tore the thread and clothes binding him. Then he cast _Nox_ and lounged at me with a mean scowl.

I stepped backwards casting _Lumos_ and was about to cast _Accio_ wand when I saw that he was lying on the ground unmoving. He had been frozen in his place by the binding vow. I'd won.

"How? Why does the vow consider you've won?" He asked between teeth.

I touched his neck and showed him a droplet of blood: "You must have hurt yourself when you broke the thread and lounged at me like a Mountain Troll. In a way, you have defeated yourself."

His face contorted. I feared that he was going to turn out to be a sore loser, I cast _Accio_ and recovered my wand.

I also undid the anti-trace circle. If he managed to break the vow and attacked me, it would be all bets off. Unregulated dueling could be dangerous. It was not a bad idea to have the cavalry at call. But he didn't attack me. He laughed with that raucous laughter of his that still hunts me in my dreams.

"That was… amazing! _Az istenit!_ He goes and uses a household spell to defeat me… Me, the unbeaten champion of Durmstrang! I end up stitched up like a cushion. The man is a genius, there is no shame in conceding defeat to such an opponent." The vow released him. He jumped up, his clothes torn.

I blushed: "I'm sorry about your outfit. I can have it fixed in no time, _Repar_.."

He raised his hand: "Don't bother, I have no further need for this uniform now, not after having been expelled I don't." Then he cast _Accio_ and recovered his wand.

"You've been expelled from Durmstrang?" It dawned on me: "Oh no, you are Mrs. Bagshot nephew!"

The mirthful smile was back, he corrected me: "I'm her great nephew. Ah, I see my reputation precedes me. I bet you are curious about what kind of awful experiments were considered nefarious enough that not even Durmstrang's infamous taste for the Dark Arts could tolerate them, aren't you?"

"I..." He had figured me out me from the beginning, curious is a fair way to describe me.

"Come now, I'll happily show them to you," he pointed to the trunk of the automobile.

I hesitated: "I'm running late and I should probably not..."

"Now, now… Are you sure you aren't interested? I saw you skulking about Dimas Latron's lair. I could bet you my car that pouch of yours has more than needles and thread inside it. So surely you must be an aficionado of… Let us say: the least traveled magical path."

I blushed furiously, but couldn't bring myself to lie and deny I had been coming out from the shack.

He sniggered: "Oh, if you could see your face now… Do you want to know what kind of unholy knowledge is not even tolerated in the darkest of the wizarding schools?" He called out: "_Accio_ wire recorder!"

The contraption floated out of the trunk and hovered between us, it had a metallic cylinder and what looked like bells with handles over a wooden board. He touched a lever and the wire recorded began to play a wild sweet melody.

"Behold: my shameful secret! I've delved in the most terrible subject of Muggle studies. The horror!"

It was my turn to laugh. And then my damned curiosity got the best of me: "What on Merlin's wide world is that thing?"

"This is a Poulsen telegraphone. Valdemar Poulsen is a Danish genial inventor who just last year developed this fascinating magnetic wire recorded. And what it is currently playing is the Karelia Suite by Jean Sibelius. Isn't it a gorgeous piece of orchestration? It premiered in the Imperial Alexander University in Helsinki when I was ten. _Nagymama_ took me to it dressed up in my Sunday best. My very first concert, and the students made such a din -hooting and clapping- that it was impossible to hear even one note of what the musicians were playing… You should have seen _Nagymama_, all wand and elbows in her bright purple gown, walking like an Empress, parting the crowd like she were parting the ocean, until we were close enough to the stage to listen. And then… magic. I was in Karelia. That's Norway bordering Russia. The music transported me to a wondrous living woodland that was growing around me, bright and green in the cool northern spring. I've followed Sibelius ever since. I've also read everything Oscar Wilde has published from _'The Happy Prince'_ when I was around five all the way through '_The Importance of Being Earnest'_ which _Nagymama_ took me to see at the Melbourne premier when I was twelve."

I smiled sideways: "Oh the shame, I don't know how you live with yourself, sir."

"I fear that's not all: When I found out he had been imprisoned for gross indecency, I wanted to break him out of Reading's Gaol; but _Nagymama_ wouldn't allow it. She thought the gesture would be taking my appreciation for Muggles too far, I thought it would have barely touched upon my appreciation for the man in particular. I'd accuse you of mistreating your geniuses but that is the practice everywhere."

"That would have been a breach on the International Statute of Secrecy!"

"Bah, I spit on the Statute of Secrecy! But I hit the deepest depth of this my appalling inclination for Muggles when I shouted at the Durmstrang's Headmaster -and this you might find really scandalous- that if he tried to make me choose between my Lohner-Porsche and my wand, I'd walk out the doors of his insipid educational institution and he'd never see me again. I think you might surmise how that stand-off ended. I walked out and was expelled _in absentia_. I don't regret having seen the last of that place. I made that clear using a word a gentleman shouldn't, when I told the man that all his mindless schooling had managed to teach me was a load of _lófasz. _Mind you, I'll only refer to that word in view of furthering your worldly education, Monsieur Dumbledore, the literal meaning refers to a part of a horse's anatomy, and the metaphorical usage is akin to your usage of the word bollocks. It is often used as _lófasz a seggedbel_ which means bugger off. So, please, refrain from ever uttering it."

I couldn't help laughing: "Low-fah is it? I'll be sure not to use it, mainly because I don't find myself capable of mastering the pronunciation. I'm not even going to try to pronounce segg..."

He shrugged it off: "_Magyar_ is hard on English tongues. And I didn't actually walk out of that accursed place, I flew out of it driving this magnificent piece of machinery, casting shielding spells while those buffoons called me blood traitor and tried to hex me. When they turned the cannons of the caravel on me, I was forced to cast a thunderstorm over their heads, with gales, haze and lighting; so they couldn't have hit their own mother on a broomstick, if she had flown right in front of the gun deck. That is one good thing of having one of Kormos' feathers as my wand core, weather magic comes naturally. So there it is, my shame laid out for you to see… I'm at your mercy, sir."

He wasn't at my mercy, but I was at his. I asked: "What's a Kormos?"

"Kormos is the Hungarian word for sooty, which is a very apt name for my pet Augurey. Well, it was _Nagymama's_ pet first, I inherited Kormos when she died."

"I guess _Nagymama_ was your grandma, she sounds like quite the character." I had to refrain from asking if she was Hungarian too. That would have been rude by Victorian standards. After less than an hour of knowing him, I already wanted to know everything about him. Instead I said: "That's droll: your wand has an Augurey feather core and your Patronus is an Augurey; my wand has a Phoenix core and my Patronus is a Phoenix."

"_Nagymama_ was quite the character, she was one fourth gypsy, one fourth Transylvanian princess of the House of Báthory, one fourth direct descendant of Mathias Corvinus and one fourth English. She was one hundredth percent formidable witch, though, and the most powerful Seer I've known. She had an inquisitive mind, quick wit and an acidic sense of humor. She was unbeatable in card games and also in magical chess. I really miss her." He went silent for a couple of minutes, then he recuperated his grin and said: "So your core is Phoenix, it suits you, with that red mane. I'm curious, what is your wood?"

I smiled playfully: "That's a rather forward question, after having just made my acquaintance."

"Sorry, after you hogtied me I thought we could dispense with formalities. But, if Monsieur Dumbledore requires a formal introduction before an abreast confession, we could ask the Old Bat to do the honors."

"There is no need for formalities and you shouldn't call your aunt that. It's not nice. There is also no big confession, I'm an open book. It has even been published: my wand is English Oak. What's yours?"

"Oh my, according to legend that was Merlin's wood too, and with a phoenix core, nonetheless. You are the forest king from the winter's solstice until the summer's solstice. And I'm the forest king when the year wanes: my wood is Holly. We are well met, Monsieur Albus Dumbledore, summer-winter, fire- storm, redhead-blonde... Together, sir, we could be kings all year round."

* * *

Ginny said: "That explains a lot."

Hermione said: "Grindelwald sure had a way with words, but what explains what?"

Ginny laughed: "You're winding me up! Is the day finally here? Is it possible that I know something Hermione Granger doesn't?"

Hermione smiled: "The day is here. I have not the slightest clue of what you are talking about."

"I'm not surprised. It's just an old witch's tale… The kind of thing that gets published once in a while in witches journals about the wand woods compatibility. I thought every schoolgirl knew about it." She turned to Harry: "I did ours on the second year at Hogwarts and got all hopeful, you know? Yew and Holly are a really good match. They are meant to be."

Harry smiled: "You never told me that."

"You didn't need to get cockier. Anyway, English Oak and Holly are a really bad match. The say goes: When his wand's oak and hers is holly, then to marry would be folly."

Hermione frowned: "That sounds like baseless superstition. And Voldermort's wand was Yew too."

"I suppose in a screwed up way they were meant to be too. Dumbledore probably thought it was hogwash, but mum says those superstitions have been around for a while, so there must be something to it."

Ron turned to Harry: "What's that about?" Harry shrugged.

Hermione denied: "Saying that something is true because it has been around for a long time is a fallacy. But I guess in this case there might be something to it. Or it could just be a series of freakish coincidences. Though there are some serious studies on the pairing of wood and core in wands… Who is to say that there really is nothing to the compatibility of wand woods?" She huffed, then she carried on reading.

* * *

I laughed softly: "Right now, Monsieur Gellert Grindelwald, I don't feel kingly at all." Twilight had turned into night. I looked at my pocket watch and felt a tinge of panic. I had left my brother and sister unsupervised for more time than I had originally intended. "It's late, I must leave you."

He said: "Wait, can you spare me a couple more hours? There is something that is imperative I discuss with you."

"I've already used up more time than I rightfully can and we've only just met, what could you possibly need to discuss with me for a couple of hours?"

I could see him calculating how much he could actually tell me. For some unbeknownst reason his mistrust hurt. It shouldn't have, I had just said it: we were almost strangers.

"I'm sorry, I really must leave you. If there is truly some matter for us to discuss, then we can do it tomorrow afternoon, when I'm done tending to my family obligations."

He gripped my shoulder: "You don't understand, this is too important to wait until tomorrow."

I frowned: "I think you really need to unhand me now, sir."

He let go of me and passed his hand through his hair. He muttered frustrated: "I guess it cannot be helped… Monsieur Dumbledore, I haven't been entirely honest with you; our encounter was not casual."

I felt outraged: "What is that supposed to mean? Were you following me?"

"No, of course not, as you keep pointing out: we've just met... this side of the veil."

I looked suspiciously at him: "What veil would that be? The only veil that exists is death, and that one you can only cross once and just in one direction."

He sighed: "Of course, and skeptic. I cannot blame you, I'm a skeptic myself. But, apparently, the gift of divination is one you can't refuse and has no consideration for free will. The visions come to you with no regards towards your inclination to believe in them or not."

I scoffed: "Everyone knows that seers are not self-aware, sir."

"Not during a prophecy, sure, but unless you are a blithering idiot or lack all curiosity, a proper Seer learns how to cast _Legilimens_ and explore his own mind in order to take the first outburst of the prophecy and make it into something intelligible at a fairly young age. I've inherited _Nagymama's_ inquisitive nature and I'm not a blithering idiot, I learnt how to cast _Legilimens_ on myself when I was eleven. I've seen you before, Albus, our meeting was foretold. This… This is destiny."

I laughed: "Does that actually work on anyone besides Hungarian schoolgirls and debutantes? You must be quite the success at balls, why with the hussar uniform and the suave charming manners."

He cocked an eyebrow: "They were actually Viennese debutantes and Austro-Hungarian witches are home-schooled, if schooled at all. Durmstrang all male pupils have an unspoken agreement to attend the debut of girls of well-to-do wizarding families. And yes, the suave charming manners come in handy at such social functions; but, I take it, they aren't working on you presently."

"They were working alright, until you started with the divination nonsense. That was a false note, completely off key, in an otherwise perfect orchestration." Again, the realization hurt, I didn't know why, but it did: "Because that is what this has been, isn't it? You dramatically running into me in that fabulous car, calling me redhead boy as if you hadn't been fully aware of who I was and where you could find me. Playing on my fascination on Muggle technology and music…That has been published too. The duel was particularly beautiful, _allegro vivacissimo,_ if you permit me to stretch the orchestration reference." I frowned: "What would you have done if I hadn't fought you?"

"You have a certain reputation as a duellist, Monsieur Dumbledore. Rumor has it you defeated a Silver Spear during your sixth year at Hogwarts. I thought a friendly skirmish would be the quickest way to gain your trust. Incidentally, if you ever find yourself at Durmstrang, you should be prepared to face a beeline of opponents. Your reputation precedes you there too."

"The Silver Spears haven't been a dueling club since the 18th century, the ignoramus I beat evidently didn't know that. He was nothing but a poser with an Aspen wand." I felt my temper rising, I tried to inhale calmly: "Did you let me win? Was that part of the set-up?" I needed another deep inhalation.

"No, I didn't. I could have worked it out either way. I had made provisions, if I had defeated you."

It was poor comfort. "Then I'm glad you didn't. It might have taken me longer to realize you were playing me like a fiddle. Though Merlin knows it took me long enough. I guess that is why you kept hinting at my indiscretion, going to Latron's lair as you call it, to keep me unbalanced. And there were some very obvious faux pas, sir, like you receiving a supposed Ministry warning letter for casting _Sonorus_, but not getting one for casting _Accio_ when I had already undone the anti-trace circle. Of course, you might not have been aware of it, because I didn't call that out. But I should have noticed. In any case, you are either not a minor or you are wearing your own anti-trace charm."

He smirked meanly: "Don't blame yourself, Albus, I'm a rather good fiddler." Then he unbuttoned his attilla, undid the collar of his chemise and showed me a medal of a curious sign that I thought I'd seen before, but couldn't quite identify. "And I am legally a minor, though one who can cast a powerful anti-trace spell of his own. I bewitched this pendant before crossing the French frontier. In case you were thinking of repeating the duel without your circle, no Aurors will be coming to the rescue."

"I think I am done dueling with you. Is your wood really Holly, Gellert, or was that a lie too?" I laughed bitterly: "If your name is Gellert Grindelwald at all. How can I know what was a lie and what wasn't? I might as well call you _Bunbury_ or _Count Dracula_. Are you even Hungarian or is that part of your persona? Not that it matters where you hail from. You could have a brilliant future on the stage as the rightful heir to Sir Henry Irving. I would have enjoyed your performance far more, if I hadn't been the butt of the joke. Though, the Kings of the Forest metaphor was a bit forced. Holly and Oak are a rather bad match, if you believe in such superstitions. I'd work that part of the scam, if I were you."

He chuckled, bemused: "You are so clever! I knew you would be, just not this much. And you have read Oscar Wilde and Bram Stoker too. Good! However, for a schemer, I would prefer the moniker of _Professor. Moriarty_. If you haven't read Conan Doyle, you should. He is another favorite of mine. And I didn't lie to you in any respect. My name really is Gellert Grindelwald and everything I told you about myself is true. Believe me, this charade was not meant to harm you. I bear you no ill will. I've never intended to harm you. The jinx I used for the circle was _Relashio_. All you could have lost was your wand. The person you liked enough at first sight to cross a loyalty fire ring for is real, Albus."

Merlin's mercy! What was I thinking? Was I thinking at all? I had crossed a bloody fire ring for him, trusting him just based on how he looked! I felt so stupid. I don't think I've felt as embarrassed as I felt right then more than a handful of times in my very long life.

With as much salvaged dignity as I could muster, I said: "Forgive me if I don't readily take your word on it. This Knights and Knaves puzzle is not one I would care to solve. I'll leave the solution to _Mr. __Holmes, _if you can find him. I would say it has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance but, unlike you, Monsieur Grindelwald, I am not a liar. I'll be taking my leave now. Good night to you, sir."

* * *

Hermione muttered: "Go Dumbledore! That will teach him…"

Harry chuckled: "We know how this ends, Hermione."

Hermione smiled sadly: "This would have been a nice ending, though."

Ron pointed out: "It could be the end of it, if we burn the damned note books right now."


	2. A Half Truth Is But Half A Lie

Chapter 2: A Half Truth Is But Half A Lie

"_The liar is a person who uses the valid designations, the words, in order to make something which is unreal appear to be real. He misuses fixed conventions by means of arbitrary substitutions or even reversals of names." From 'On Truth and Lie in an Extra-Moral Sense' by __Frederick Nietzsche__ (1873)._

He sighed and put his wand forward: "Whether you believe it or not: I bear you no ill will, Albus, but I cannot let you leave. Not unless you give me the books that you purchased from Dimas Latron."

I laughed in disbelief: "You surely jest! All this convoluted mascaraed was just for a bunch of musty secondhand books? What can there possible be in those books that persuades you to do this? Most of them are useless, but Latron wouldn't sell me the ones I wanted, unless I purchased the whole lot."

He didn't answer my question, the charming conversationalist had exited left of stage, leaving behind a warlock with steely resolve: "I'm not joking, leave the pouch on that rock by the side of the road and you can be done with me."

"And how exactly do you intend to prevent me from leaving right now, pouch and all?"

He yelled: "To me Kormos!" The Augurey that had been hiding in a nearby gray willow shrub took fly and landed on his outstretched arm. Extending its wings in a threatening display, the bird cackled. Gellert rose his wand to the sky and conjured a thunderstorm of biblical proportions.

Conjuring lighting is a spell that only very few, gifted weather wizards or witches manage to master. Gellert had done it at sixteen. I was impressed. All the "impressed" I could be while casting _Protego_ wildly about to try to protect myself from said lighting. I was also thinking it was very lucky indeed that I wasn't superstitious; the Augurey cry just forecasts bad weather; but for a very long time it was thought to be an augury of death. Death. The word made me stop on my mental tracks. I sometimes get this bursts of intuition: Something clicks like the pieces of the puzzle fitting neatly into place.

I yelled, tearing the leather cord from my neck and showing him the bag on my raised fist: "Stop! Stop! I'll give you the pouch."

The lighting stopped falling around me. You see? Around me, the lighting was falling around me, none had hit me, none would have hit me as long as I had the pouch on my person. He couldn't risk it.

He said: "Throw it to me and I'll let you go."

I threw the pouch towards him and his features turned into a hungry wolf's visage. He extended his right hand palm up to catch it.

His brow contracted in the telling way it did before he cast a spell, not waiting for him to be able to throw a curse at me; I pointed my wand at the pouch and shouted loud and clear so he could hear every word: "_Accio_ _Tales of Beedle The Bard!_" The book flew out of the bag into my hand. I opened it brusquely with one hand and placed my wand's fiery tip half an inch away from its pages.

He hadn't seen it coming. His look of utter disbelief was followed by an inhuman cry: "NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!"

I smirked triumphantly: "Oh yes! You shouldn't have shown me your medal, Gellert. I have a rather good memory. It was only a matter of time for me to remember where I had seen the symbol on it. That is the mark of the three brothers who were owners of the Deathly Hallows that together master Death. And this particular book is what you were looking for all along. You must be mad as a hatter to go to such lengths to get your hands on a children's book. Especially one as popular as this one. I don't think there is a single wizarding household in all England without a copy of it."

"Oh Albus, you don't know what you are doing, take your wand away from that book. It is one of a kind. That's the very last first edition. It would be a tragedy, if it were to catch fire by accident..." He took a tentative step in my direction.

I laughed humorlessly: "Accident my foot! Take another step towards me and I swear I'll burn this book to a cinder. Then I'll pour water over the ashes until they turn stone, which I'll break in pieces and scatter to the four corners of the Earth so no power or spell can put it back together ever again."

With his hands still outstretched towards me he said: "You wouldn't dare. That book is..."

"Destroyed, if you don't fall back. Don't try me. I've told you I'm as good as my word, sir."

His arms fell limply to the sides of his body, he took one step away and he pleaded: "Please Albus, I beg you. I wasn't lying. That book is instrumental to secure the future of wizardkind, of all humankind."

I sneered: "You read that in your tea leaves? What are you mixing them with, laudanum?"

"I'm not insane nor am I intoxicated. Let me prove it to you."

"Don't come closer, Gellert. I won't warn you twice."

"I'm just going to take something out of my bag." He laid down his wand on the ground. "See? No magic."

"How stupid do you think I am? Don't make any sudden movement. I've seen you cast wandless."

He put his hands behind his head: "Then you take it out, it's a monogrammed calfskin notebook from Smythson of Bond Street in burgundy leather. My monogram is the Deathly Hallows symbol."

I pictured the notebook in my mind and called out: "_Accio_, notebook."

"The pages are numbered in the top right corner. Open it on page 26."

I skimmed through it and was thunderstruck: "What is this?"

He snarled: "A bargaining chip. It is also what you want, isn't it, Albus?"

"What do you know about what I want, Gellert?"

"Isn't it obvious? That damned Latron was supposed to sell the lot of books to me. I arrived one day later than expected and the little weasel had already sold it to you. I know the contents of that lot and, since you don't share my interest in the unabridged first edition of _The Tales of Beedle The Bard_, then you must be interested in the only two other books of any worth in it. Hence, what you want, Albus Dumbledore, is to change the past. I need that book you are so carelessly holding in your hand to change the future. So I'm offering you a fair trade: My notebook for your book."

"How can I trust you? And how can I know this time-looper you write about will actually work?"

He smiled his mirthful, slightly impish grin: "Because I've already built it, it is in the car. It works alright, but don't take my word on it, take it for a spin and see for yourself. And because I will make an unbreakable vow to you right now. Two hours, that's all I am asking for. Two hours to let me convince you of the fairness of my claim on the book you think is a mere fairytale. In exchange, I'll give you a practical demonstration of a working time-looper and the unbreakable vow of getting you back to this exact moment and letting you walk away unharmed, with the notebook containing precise instructions to build your own machine afterwards. I'll also promise not to try to recuperate the notebook from you. What do you say, Monsieur Dumbledore, do we have a deal?"

I should have walked away without turning my back on him. I should have walked away and prayed never to cross paths with him again. I really should have. I didn't. I made the book and my wand float over my head to leave my hands free: "Make the unbreakable vow, Monsieur Grindelwald, and stick to the letter of the promise. Know that I can still destroy the book at a moment's notice, if you try to slip a fast one past me. Vow or no vow, I'm keeping my hostage until we come back here and now."

"I won't break the vow, you have my word on it, under penalty of death. The spell will see to it. I have too much to live for. Give me your hands, my friend."

I gave him my hands muttering: "You are no friend of mine." He made the unbreakable vow.

And then he laughed unbridled: "I hope I can change that too in these next two hours. I've never met anyone quite like you."

I laughed right back at him, a jaded laugh: "I've never met anyone quite like you either. Though I'm not sure that's a compliment, nor necessarily a good thing."

He opened car's door: "After you, Monsieur Dumbledore."

I climbed to the copilot's seat. He started the engine. As soon as we were airborne he use his wand to change the cylinder and start the wire recorder again. It played Paderewski's Piano Concerto in A minor: "Time travel can make me dizzy, the music helps me relax. It makes the vertigo better."

As Godric's Hollow became a small point behind us, or, perhaps, I should said in front of us. It is hard to describe when as where. I asked: "Where and when are we going?"

"Just a couple of hours back, seven on the dot, so we have time. First we are going to Mayfair, Savile Row, my tailor Blair Woolahan will receive us without an appointment. He and his elves will have us set up in a jiffy. I'm feeling rambunctious. Why don't we try one of these new tailless lounge dinner jackets… What are they called? Tuxedos, I think. Some herald them as the end of the dinner frock. I hear you can wear them in different colors and not necessarily with a black waistcoat, but, hear this: with satin sashes in intricate designs over a white pique shirt like some exotic Maharaja. I envision you in a silk navy blue dinner coat with a royal blue and silver satin sash. For me, I'll pick a deep aubergine silk for the coat with a garnet and gold satin sash. We'll use oxford gray narrow stripped trousers. Doesn't that sound delightfully decadent? What a pair of handsome dandies we'll make!"

It sounded loud, which I tended to avoid in dressing back then. I thought my hair was scandalous enough to go for anything else. And it sounded expensive, which I couldn't afford at all. "I can summon my dinning frock. If I'm having to build a time-looper, I'd rather save my galleons."

"It will be my treat. It's the least I can do after having tried to trick you into giving me the book. My clothes are ruined and if your dinning frock is anything like your day wear, it just won't do. You'll need bespoken clothes for the place we are going next. We are having dinner at Pagani on Langham Place. I have a standing reservation at eight. You are the one keen on the Statute of Secrecy, so you won't want us to stand-out."

"Won't we stand-out with these Tuxedos of yours, Monsieur Grindelwald?"

"Yes Monsieur Dumbledore, but we'll stand-out in a good way, like I said, we'll be dandies. Wear an old crummy frock and we'll stand-out in a whole lot of wrong ways."

I shrugged dismissively.

"I'd love to show you Pagani's Artist Room, it has more than 5,000 signatures of artist like Puccini, Melba, Bernhardt and Paderewski, who we are listening to, but that one is usually engaged for private parties. Supposedly Bertie -the Prince of Wales- is said to have dinned there with Wilde before his fall from grace. The downstairs public room is not bad either, with soft blue curtains to match the blue wallpaper. I bet you like the shaded electric lights. Have you ever seen those working?"

I denied. I wasn't feeling very talkative. The subject of my tight budget tied up my tongue.

"There you go, just that makes it worth the trip. My table is right by a little bow-window at the back, which makes a snug nook. We can chat privately while we dine."

"You cannot possible be suggesting we dine in camaraderie, pretending that nothing has happened between us."

"Why not? We need a private place to speak, and no place can be more private than a dining room full of Muggles, who'll be none the wiser as to who we are or what we are really doing there. Plus, I don't know about you, but I haven't had time to dine. I'm famished. And the food is really good. Supper at the Old…" He caught himself: "Bagshot manor is subpar. So I try to skip it whenever I can."

It was in poor taste to talk about money, but I was flat out broke: "I'm sure the food is fine, but..."

He took out a paper from his waist pouch and smiled: "Nah-ah, no buts, it'll be my treat too. The food is superb. Here, I'm usually in a hurry when I visit London, M. Giuseppe Pagani sends me the Menu in advance: so I can choose what I want beforehand. I hope you don't mind what I've chosen for tonight. We will be having _Hors-d'oeuvre variés, Potage Bortsch. Filets de sole Pagani. Tournedos aux truffés. Haricots verts sautés. Pommes croquettes. Perdreau Voisin. Salade. _For accompanying the Hors-d'oeuvre and the Bortsch we'll start with Sherry, which I much prefer to the Port you Brits seem to favor. For the sole fish, I'm torn between cracking open a bottle of a white _Meursault Charmes '46_ that I have been saving for an especial occasion and a far younger _Riesling_. You don't strike me as much of a drinker, so we'll probably settle with the hock. For the beef tenderloin with truffles and green beans we'll have a fine _Bourdeaux._ A_ Beaune Grèves Vigne de L'Enfant Jésus _will do. I'm thinking about a _Romanée-Conti_ or a _Nuits-Saint-Georges _for the partridge, the potatoes and the salad, but we don't have to make up our minds just yet on the _Bourgogne_. We'll finish the meal with a generous portion of their delicious _Soufflé au cura__ç__oa _that we'll accompany with a _Vve Clicquot_. I find champagne goes well with desserts. Especially one like this. Pagani makes it just right, it feels like clouds of goodness floating in your mouth. Add the bubbles of the champagne popping and it tastes like heaven. I'm sure you are going to love it. Something tells me you have a sweet tooth. Do you, Albus? A young man your age surely has a healthy appetite…"

"I have a healthy appetite, for food. And I wouldn't have pegged you for someone acquainted with heavenly regions, perhaps you are acquainted with a somewhat more austral province of the afterlife?"

His smile widened: "You might be surprised. I've been around quite a bit."

The Piano concerto had reached the melancholic and soulful piano solo. I was famished too. I'd had a very long day. And at Dumbledore manor we hadn't had any food other than the one I managed to cook myself with mixed results for what seemed like the longest time. Actually, being honest, I hadn't had a decent meal since I had left Hogwarts… It's a poor excuse, but it all sounded so tempting and I was too tired to argue… I gave in: "I haven't eaten anything since breakfast. I do have a sweet tooth. It all sounds delicious. I'll drink whatever you are having."

"Bravo, Albus, that's the spirit, live a little. We'll have us two portions each of the dessert then."

I smiled halfheartedly: "We'll see."

A few minutes later in our time -and a few hours earlier by the time we had left- we were at his tailor's; immersed in profound sartorial disquisition of what colour and fabric suited whom the best; while the elves -covered in pins and needles like some preternatural hedgehogs- sewn like there was no tomorrow. Mr. Woolahan was kind enough to send word that we would be two for dinner at Pagani using a footman, not to spook the non-magical owners of the place. And a mere half an hour later he paid the bill in full and we left the shop riding Gellert's car. He drove to the apartments he kept in Belgrave Square so he could lent me a pair of leather patent button booths, in far better shape than the ones I had. We changed into our new outfits with the aid of a gloomy pale valet, who didn't cast a reflection in the mirror and who, I'm fairly certain, had been engaged back in Transylvania.

I kept my eye on the gloomy valet and he kept his eye on my neck. I decided that next time I'd dress myself without any aid, then I wondered what made me think that there would be a next time. I also wondered why Monsieur Grindelwald favored our rather shoddy corner of the English countryside. Why visit at all, if he could afford to keep apartments in highly fashionable Belgrave Square. I couldn't ask him, we were running late. We left Belgrave Square driving the Lohner-Porsche on ground like a pair of daredevils, attracting looks of admiration, envy or both from passersby.

You probably aren't aware, Elphias, as it wouldn't have been polite to discuss my family situation with you, but back then we Dumbledore's were barely making ends meet. When I began earning money with my papers and a couple of consulting gigs at the Ministry; the truth is that what could have been a fairly decent income for a single young guy, was never all that good for a family of four. I was the breadwinner at fourteen. But even when we became three, after mum died, we were barely making it.

Back then, stores where you could buy readymade clothes were just beginning to permeate the Muggle's society. Wizarding society, which has always tended to be a bit more set in its ways and traditions, didn't know them at all. Clothes, new clothes I mean, were either made home or at a tailor or seamstress, if you could afford them. Of course there were tailors who made cheap gowns with low quality materials for those who just simply couldn't afford anything else. But, those in so called polite society, who needed to maintain certain appearance of wealth, had to make do with secondhand clothes.

That was a punch in the ego for me. But when it came to feeding my siblings and keeping a roof over our heads or wearing the latest… There really was no choice. Still, I must admit that trying to look the best I could at this or that social function, waiting to be awarded this prize or looking to secure a job; always in the same ill-fitting frayed frock, two seasons out of fashion, getting through it all mostly sustained on a stiff-upper-lip attitude and an unrelenting certainty of my self-worth, was never easy.

Is it really that hard to understand why, while I ran my fingers over the double-breasted silk lapels of my first brand new set of clothes ever, I couldn't help sporting a little conceited smile?

* * *

Ron snorted: "Nope, it's not hard to understand at all…" Then he said, talking mostly to himself: "Who would have known he knew?… Always thought of him as posing for a portrait as the greatest wizard of the twentieth century, but he understood what it felt like, going through life in hand-me-downs."

Ginny, who understood it too, said: "Still keen on burning the lot o' the notebooks, Ron?"

Ron didn't reply. Hermione gave her husband's hand a brief, encouraging squeeze and kept reading.

* * *

We walked into Pagani to deferential nods and bows, mostly directed at Earl Grindelwald; but some of that deference was directed at me too. And, for the first time in my life, I didn't feel the nagging sensation of being slightly out of place. Or better said, I didn't care about standing out, because instead of standing out the wrong way, as Gellert had called it, I was notorious in a good way. That day I learnt not to underestimate the power of wearing the right outfit, mind you, the right outfit for you: one that compliments and suits you, giving you a confidence boost. It is sad but we are often judged upon our looks, so we have to learn to look our best. That's why I agreed to keep the uniforms at Hogwarts.

After the maître d'hôtel showed us to his table and the waiters had set us with the first course of varied entrances and Sherry in the snuggled semi-lit nook at the back of the dining room that Gellert claimed as his, we were left alone and I could ask: "Is Earl Grindelwald another moniker like _Professor Moriarty_ or is it a real title?"

"The closest translation for _Ispán _would be Earl, though I'm not exactly sure of the current situation of the Grand Principality of Transylvania or the Kingdom of Hungary. It seems one or both have always been in abject vassalage to one crown or the other for the past couple of centuries. I cannot really tell what claim the House of Grindelwald may have in the eyes of Muggles to any title based on the blood of the Báthory and the Corvinus that runs through our veins. Ours is a nobility older than the Statute of Secrecy. But I can tell you this, Albus: I, Gellert Grindelwald, am the rightful _Ispán_ and _Gyula_ warlock of _Nurmengard Vár. _The claim to that fortress comes directly to me from my father. So, regardless of Muggle or wizarding law, I can swear on _Nagymama's_ name that one day the Grindelwald banner will hang from its lofty steeples once more, if I have to die trying to make it so."

I leaned towards him and whispered confidentially: "I feel the sudden urge to hooray and clap, but I fear it would not be proper. That was quite the speech. Your wand may not be Aspen but you do have a silver-tongue, sir. One that is as dangerous as any silver spear that ever graced the annals of 18th century wizarding duelling."

He laughed, as unbridled and loud as he had laughed on the empty rural road: "Oh Albus, I think I've already told you, but I mean every word of it: I've never met someone quite like you before. You indeed are a rare find. So much more than I had expected, or could have hoped to find in a place like Godric's Hollow. Whatever are you doing there, my friend?"

I wondered that myself. And I could have asked him the very same question. Instead I said: "You are starting to repeat yourself, Gellert. Maybe it would be wise if we moved forward to whatever pressing matter you wanted to discuss with me, which couldn't wait till the morrow and demanded that we traveled back in time to address it."

He raised his Sherry glass to his lips, wet his tongue lightly in the liquor, like a cat lapping a bowl of cream. Then he grabbed a foie gras medallion between his index and his thumb, swallowed it whole in one greedy bite, licked his fingers and said: "No, no, one does not talk shop while dinning. It's rude."

I inhaled sharply: "But you've just ordered a nine courses meal, including four bottles of wine and one of champagne!"

He patted my back with a lopsided smile: "Firstly: Champagne is wine too, sparkling wine, but wine nonetheless, my friend. Secondly, don't worry about the bottles, what we don't finish in this sitting will be sent to the flat at Belgrave Square. Thirdly, such meal in a place like this is an event that compels you to sit back and enjoy it fully, engaging all the senses in the Epicurean experience fine dining should be. It is not to be made a perfunctory fulfilling of a basic animal need that you may remorselessly sully by daring to talk shop at my table. I've just banked my life in an unbreakable vow for two hours of your time, Albus. If I can wait through nine courses to address the pressing matter that has prompted me to make such a serious vow... then, most certainly, so can you. Now, do me a favor, Monsieur Dumbledore: sit back, relax and enjoy your damned meal."

Oh the insufferable...continental… with his French wine, his fancy table at Pagani, his bachelor pad in fashionable Belgrave Square, his bloody Transylvanian noble castle and his even bloodier Transylvanian valet… At first I felt so outraged that I could have climbed wandlessly up the steeples of his alleged ancestral home. That or I could have climbed out the window. Then I decided, what the hell. I'd always been a good boy and where had that taken me? Nowhere that is where. I was stuck right in the middle of nowhere both geographically and metaphorically. But, against all odds, I'd just managed to claim back two hours of my life. Two glorious hours that I owed to no one but myself. And, for once, I was going to live them to the fullest and deal with the consequences later.

I was off to a magnificent start. I'd rode in a flying time-traveling car. I was sitting in the best clothes I had ever owned at the best London restaurant I had ever been to, sharing a wondrous meal and conversation -under the modern marvel of electrical lamps- with the most fascinating person I had ever met; who, granted, may have been a manipulative, secretive bastard that even right then was trying to pull my strings to further some cockamamie hidden agenda involving a children's book; which he was in no rush whatsoever to reveal to me… But, was I really in such a hurry to go back to rotting in Godric's Hollow, writing insipid commentaries, doing mind-boring translations, washing clothes, darning socks and fixing meals for a girl that was so out of it that she barely noticed I was there and a boy that was so lost in his grievances against his older brother that he couldn't acknowledge I was trying to be the best guardian I could? I might as well... So I sat back, relaxed and enjoyed the best nine courses meal of my whole life. That statement, coming from a man who has lived up to 116 and who is compelled to attend none less than eighteen magical banquets a year, means something.

In fact, the Epicurean experience was so good that it is entirely within the realm of possible that I might have eaten and drank a bit too much. In vulgar terms, I was slightly pickled when Gellert decided we would move to a private smoking room. To help us sober up, my gracious host had asked for a coffee service for himself and tea service for me, then he had lit a Hooka pipe.

With a cocked eyebrow I asked: "Does one talk shop in the smoking room or are you going to sit there puffing smoke like a Hungarian Horntail while I sip tea and watch you, Monsieur Grindelwald?" I'd drawled a little saying his name, realizing I was still worse from the wine, I sipped some more tea.

"Monsieur Dumbledore, in normal circumstances, I would invite you to light a Hooka yourself and join me in puffing like a dragon. _Dracul_ is a family name and smoking tobacco can be very liberating. However, the pressing matter that brought us here cannot be postponed any longer. But, I think it might be better that I showed you, rather than tell you. Firsts things first, I'll give us some real privacy..." He took out his wand and with a circling motion around the room he cast: "_Muffliato._"

"Has been ages since last time it happened, but I don't think I know that spell. What does it do?"

He smiled: "I didn't expect you to, being as forward as you are. It's a rather obscure Venetian spell useful for keeping others from hearing private conversations. Legend has it that it was invented by some secret society or the other in the _Cinquecento_ when _La Serenìsíma Repùblica_ was the hotbed of international intrigue. It's a spell for spies, backstabbers and conspirators. Which I guess suits our purpose just right."

I huffed: "And what would that purpose be: spying, treason or a conspiracy?"

He didn't answer. He kept puffing on the Hooka's pipe until the room was covered in smoke, a thick, fog-like smoke that formed a wall in front of us. And in that wall images began to form, a Dantesque parade of soldiers in strange uniforms bearing odd weapons, gargantuan caterpillar like vehicles that raised hell on earth and flying machines, which dropped bombs that devastated whole cities, leaving husk-like ruins where once proud stone buildings had stood. He presented me with a parade of images come from the depths of Gehenna, which showed London razed to the ground and that culminated in the mother of all howitzer being detonated to create what is now the infamous image of a huge mushroom cloud.

If there is a worse way of sobering up than watching that horror parade, I hope I never get to experience it. I watched pale, muted and horrified the Grand-Guignol Theater presented to me by Gellert Grindelwald, not quite believing and not fully understanding what I was seeing. After the show I sat shell-shocked. When I managed to get my bearings I muttered: "What is this? Is this your idea of a joke? Because if it is, I don't find it amusing in the least, sir."

He laughed humorlessly: "I wish it were. At times I've hoped that these images were only the product of a sick mind, even if that mind happens to be mine. However, my friend, it is not. That is my first prophecy. I delivered it right in the middle of my first concert when I was ten, lost in the music of Sibelius. _Nagymama_ witnessed it. With my mother, Bathilda Bagshot's niece, being English, she knew what future awaited me if I were to remain in your country. Your Seers, my friend, have to be well-behaved trained monkeys at the service of your Ministry's Department of Secrets. Milked like cows for their visions in exchange of some notoriety. _Nagymama_ didn't want that destiny for me." A smile flickered in his face: "Must have been her gypsy blood. We kept moving until it was time to get my wand and begin school. We seriously considered home-schooling, but ended up choosing Durmstrang precisely for the little regard for divination they have. In the holidays we returned to the nomadic life. As I've told you, I've been around quite a bit. I'm a citizen of the world. And, believe what you want Monsieur Dumbledore, but I am a Seer and the horror theater you just saw is one possible future."

"One possible future, aren't prophecies supposed to be set on stone or locked in small crystal balls?"

He laughed: "My friend, if you believe in something as fanciful as the possibility of changing the past, why can't you believe in the much more plausible endeavor of changing the future?"

"Aren't you risking losing your bargaining chip by telling me that it is not possible to change the past?"

"I don't want to lie to you, not anymore. I've taken a liking to you and wouldn't want you to risk trying to change the past. No good can come from it, Monsieur Dumbledore."

"I've told you I don't intend to play your Knights and Knaves game with you. I don't think there is ever a fair solution in real life to facing a liar who says he is not lying. We are right here, in the past, how do you know effectively changing it is not possible? Have you tried?"

"_Az istenit!_ Never! If I were that stupid _Nagymama_ would be the first one to cross the veil in the other direction to slap some sense into me." He sighed: "But my father did, and died when I was barely one month old in his attempt to. Are you familiar with the eruption of Krakatoa on August 26th 1883?"

"I don't think there is a living person who isn't. What was your father trying to change?"

"I come from a long line of warlocks, Albus, my father was a veteran of the Siege of Sevastopol. It took our armies one year to traverse the 35 miles from where they landed in Eupatoria to the capital, and each mile was a bloody carnage. More than 200,000 men lost their lives in that bloodbath."

"Merlin's beard! Your father was at Crimea?! Why would a wizard fight in a Muggle war?"

"Don't ask me, I can't understand why that war was fought at all. How can such horror be fought in the name of a religion that is supposedly founded on the tenets of love and compassion?"

"Please! That war was never about the Christian rights over the Holy Land. Politics do make strange bedfellows. The British and the French allied with the Ottoman Empire against Russia for geopolitical reasons, love and compassion had no play in it. Who'd be foolish enough to believe otherwise?"

"You'd be surprised, some pious Austrian ladies still call it the last crusade. I broke a serious engagement to the daughter of one such lady over her commentary on the war. She said the men who had died were martyrs and their families should be proud, not mourning their death. I wonder if the lady had lost a husband, a son or a father, if she would have hold onto that opinion." He chuckled: "I merely got up from the table and left, _Nagymama_ jinxed her with a permanent mustache. Not that hard, really, as she would have probably sported one, if it weren't for her trimming spells. It's just as well the engagement was called off. One doesn't have to be a Seer to figure out one can look at the mother to figure how the daughter will turn out." Then he was serious again: "My father's participation in the Crimean War had to do with an old allegiance to the Ottoman prince. Back in the 15th century a member of our family was held hostage in the court of Mehmed II, he befriended the Sultan's son and they swore a blood oath in which he could call upon the Grindelwald warlocks in his time of need."

"A blood oath cannot be inherited, it lapses with the dead of one of the incumbents."

"The spell may fade, my friend, the word given by one of our own is not subject to the avatars of time."

"That's rubbish! Are you telling me that if Abdul Hamid II were to call upon you to aid him in massacring Armenians you would jolly pick up your wand and go? What happened to the proud _Ispán_ who bows to no man, Gellert?"

"Calm down, Albus, as far as I'm concerned, Abdul Hamid II can take one of his golden Al-Qur'an rolls and shove it where the sun don't shine… That's not the point. My father felt obliged by the promise and, when the time came, he went to war. He was very young -no even of age- and very foolish, he went there looking for glory and came back damaged. He only survived because he was a wizard. But you know there is no magic that can cure the ailments of the mind, don't you, Albus?"

My mind went immediately to my sister Ariana. I couldn't answer, I merely nodded.

"I hear there is young Viennese Muggle neurologist called Freud who studied under Charcot and Breuer that has been recently having some success treating hysteria and aphasia in women and children with something they call the curing talk. Perhaps one of these days his technique will be developed up to a point in which it can help those like my father. As it is, if a mind is damaged past a point, there is no way of putting it back together. According to _Nagymama_ father was broken by what he had seen in the war. He had terrible night terrors. And at times his eyes would glaze over and he would believe he was still in the battlefield. He could be a danger to himself and others during those times. But _Nagymama_ couldn't bring herself to have him committed. Not even in your St Mungo's, which is not the worst that is out there for treating those who have lost their sanity. Still, all that they could have offered him was to lock him up until he died."

I felt a lump in my throat, if he was trying to play me, he was doing one hell of a good job. But, then again, he had told me himself he was a good fiddler and Mrs. Bagshot was a sweet woman but a bit of a gossip, she might have blabbered to him. I tried steeling my resolve: "But he got better, didn't he? The Crimean war was over in '56 and Mrs. Bagshot showed me a painting of her niece's wedding in '82."

He sighed: "The night terrors and the attacks became infrequent, but he wasn't really cured. I suspect he only married my mother in an effort to convince himself that he could lead a normal life. And I fear my mother, who was a simple girl with just the barest magical ability not to be called a squib, couldn't help falling for the handsome Hungarian noble with means who had seen fit to fix his attention on a homely twenty one old maid like her. He was too good a prospect for her to dare reject him, so she married him. But the truth is there was little love between them. My father never left Crimea and when I, his first born, came into the world; he tried time-traveling in order to change the ordeal that had left him less than the man he used to be. He died in the attempt and mom died a few weeks after delivering me from childbed fever. _Nagymama_ took me in. I'm not telling you this in order to garnish sympathy from you, Albus, but as a cautionary tale so you desist from attempting to change the past."

"But your time-looper has taken care of the problem of energy release, hasn't it?"

He shrugged: "Up to a point, for a few hours and theoretically even for a few years the time-looper can use the energy release from the hour reversing charms to feed the electrical battery of the Lohner-Porsche from which, in turn, the energy necessary to sustain the charm is taken from; creating a stable system. But anything far beyond that point is unsafe. Not to mention we are not going about changing anything in this outing. We are miles away from our own selves walking in parallel. If we were to try to change anything upon the knowledge that we have, for example, if I would try to beat you to Dimas Latron's shack in order to secure the book; the results would be unpredictable. I may very well end causing the destruction of the book which is something I simply cannot risk. That book is instrumental in my plan to try to stop the future I just showed you from happening."

I sniggered despondently: "That's a candid reply. So you wouldn't be losing your time with me if you could just safely go back and take the book, wouldn't you?" I regretted making the question as soon as it left my mouth. Don't ask if you really don't want to know. I braced myself for the answer.

"I don't consider our dinner lost time, Albus. As for the book, you've been watching my wand all evening, but I could have easily had Vladislav stolen the pouch and replace it with a perfect copy while he was changing your clothes or I could have slipped something in the wine, put you to sleep and taken the pouch. As long as I left you back home with the notebook, the vow wouldn't be broken. I might not have needed to slip you anything, pouring you a couple more glasses of wine might have done the trick. For some reason, wizards tend not to think about the non-magical possibilities to solve a problem. I think of that as a grave strategic fault, something which I profit from, but try not to be guilty of."

"So why haven't you taken the pouch, dropped me off and left?"

"I've told you, I honestly like you. Plus I think that there is so much more to be gained from our association than getting the book. I have a strong feeling that you can make me or break me, Albus Dumbledore. I felt it in my bones from the moment I laid eyes on you and a smart Seer always listens to his hunches."

I laughed: "Low-fah!"

"Make the 'O' a bit more closed and the 'AH' a lot more..."

"Don't bother. I'll say it in plain English: Bollocks!"

"Suit yourself, Monsieur Dumbledore, for the time being, ally or foe, I want to keep you close to me."

"What if I don't want to be close to you, Gellert Grindelwald?"

He laughed big and wild: "Never play poker, my friend, you'd lose all you have on the green mat."

"In case you powerful Seer haven't figured it out, I have nothing to lose. And not all of us can be as good at bluffing as you, sir." I sighed: "So, where does this leave us, unbreakable vow-wise?"

"You cannot break an unbreakable vow. This doesn't change a thing. So, I take you back, give you the notebook, which I hope you won't use after our little chat, and you can give me the book or not. It's your choice, really. And so it is if you want to see me later on or not. As I've said, I would want to, I think there is much we have left to discuss, but I won't force myself on you."

I looked at my pocket watch, the only thing of worth I'd inherited from my father: "It's late, we should get back."

As with the tailor he covered the check, he didn't like to keep a tab, in case he had to leave town on short notice. That should have been a fair warning. We boarded the car. Once airborne he played some more music in the Poulsen wire recorder. Something I couldn't identify: "What is that?"

He smiled: "A Czech composer: Smetana. We are listening to his String Quartet No. 1. _From My Life._ He composed it after going deaf. I love chamber music and I particularly like this piece: _Allegro vivo appasionato_. That's how life should be, or else it is not worth living."

I wholeheartedly agreed. We didn't talk on the way back. He left me at quarter to nine in my front door, just as another Albus Dumbledore boarded a Lohner-Porsche in what was, up to that point, the greatest adventure of his whole young life.

He was putting his googles back on when I called out to him: "HEY YOU, THE BLOND BOY!" I threw him _The Tales of Beedle the Bard. _He caught the book without taking his eyes off me. "If that book can really help you prevent the horrors you've shown me, then you should have it. And if there is anything else you would want to discuss with me, or any way I can help you to prevent that from happening: I'm at your service any day after seven o'clock in the afternoon. I'm always home."

He smiled: "Of course, after you tend to your family obligations. Then seven o'clock tomorrow in the afternoon it is. Meet me by the lake, your home is too close to the Old Bag… shot manor."

A few years later, when I read J.M. Barrie, I knew exactly how _Wendy Darling_ must have felt coming back from _Neverland_ into the world where she would need to grow up. _Peter Pan_ was off fluttering in the night and my grown-up obligations were waiting for me behind the redwood door of my parent's house. The kitchen was in disarray, Aberforth had burnt his hand trying to fix Ariana's dinner.

I tried not to sound exasperated, of late it was a miracle getting through the day without fighting: "I left you a note telling you cold dinner was on the counter, you only needed to serve it, Aberforth."

While I cured his hand, he looked balefully at me from behind a long redhead mop that could have used washing: "You know Ariana doesn't like cold meals. I was trying to fix her a proper dinner while you were running your errands. I wouldn't want us to get in the way of all the important letters and essays you need to write."

I had to bite my tongue not to snap back and say that my essays kept the roof over our heads and that those letters were the only way to keep the contacts I'd made at school and that allowed me to get the odd jobs we needed to put food on our plates. He was the same age as Grindelwald and two years older than me when I started supporting my whole family, but he was a child. Snapping at him wouldn't solve a thing. I breathed in deep: "Go to Ariana, try to calm her and I'll fix dinner. Have you eaten?"

"She blew up the platter, she hates cold porridge, you know this... You should know this."

I should have known it. Though I had been away from home since I was eleven. And working my hand to a claw since fourteen writing, at least until I taught myself how to charm a magic pen. Always busy, busy, if he had told me before, I had probably forgotten it. But he didn't know that, mum was not quite right, locked up with my sister, she had surrounded herself with a wall of delusion to protect her sensibilities as effective as any spell. My brother was under the impression my father had left enough to keep us. By the time I realized our reality; my mother was still keeping up appearances, driving herself into debtor's jail by buying clothes and toys that supposedly came from Azkaban. And Aberforth believed it! What was the point in revealing our dreary reality to someone who obviously wasn't prepared to look at it? Reminding myself once more that there was no point in fighting with my younger brother, I replied: "I'll fix something for you too. Tell me what you want. I'll try to make it."

After taking master Aberforth's order, I went about cleaning and repairing the mess in the kitchen and fixing dinner. Then I worked a couple of hours on a translation of a Middle Goblin Charm's Book I needed to turn in next Thursday. I oiled and brushed Ariana's hair, put on her nightshirt and made sure her day clothes were clean enough so she could wear them the next day. I reminded Aberforth to check his own clothes and to polish his boots. And I bite down another sour reply when he asked, mockingly bowing to me, if he should polish mine too. Once my siblings were safely in bed, I checked the house was properly locked and that the protective spells were working fine. I toiled around my parent's house cleaning this, fixing that, like every night, but my mind and soul where already at seven o'clock next afternoon, when I would see the Earl of _Nurmengard _again.

* * *

Hermione looked at the clock, it was quarter past twelve and she had to be up at five o'clock next morning, if she wanted to have a chance to study a little before going to work.

Harry followed her eyes, then looked at Ginny who was nodding off, her belly was starting to show and she too was dealing with a full-time job and the housework. He sighed: "Why don't we leave it here? It is obvious we aren't going to do this in one sitting. So tomorrow I'll use lunch time to talk to the executor and ask him to let us keep the books so we can read them at our own pace."

Ron, who appeared to be sleeping, muttered in between snores: "Should just burn them, I tell you..."


	3. King's Gambit

_**AN: This chapter has changed from the one previously posted. It has also been split in two (that last change is mostly "cosmetic"). **_

Chapter 3 King's Gambit (Whites open)

"_Sozan, a Chinese Zen master, was asked by a student what was the most valuable thing in the world. He replied that it was the head of a dead cat; and, when asked why that was, replied: Because no man can name its price." __Shaseki-shu by Muju (13th Century) _

They had come to an agreement with Mr. Doge's will executor. As Mr. Doge wanted them to read through all five diaries before deciding what to do, the executor had agreed to leave the diaries in their custody; they had agreed to reunite at Ron's and Hermione's flat to continue reading them. They thought it was safer not to move the diaries around and it also gave the Weasley-Granger's a chance of supping on Ginny's homemade meals. There really didn't seem to be a good order or at least not a linear way to go through them, so Hermione was left in charge to decide how they would read.

* * *

We walked down a long hallway which had a door every few meters, twice a door was opened to reveal spacious rooms where people were engaged in strange disturbing activities. In the first room I could see an old wizard hanging fairies from a naked girl's hair as if she were a Christmas tree. The girl had milky white skin and almost white blond hair right down to her lower back. She was so flawlessly beautiful that it made me wonder if she could be a Veela. The old wizard had pranced around the girl, clapping delighted at his handy work, before noticing the door was open, with his face twisted in an angry scowl, he pulled his wand and the door closed shut.

The second door opened to let out a screaming young man whose clothes were on fire. A couple of Lutines- that appeared out of nowhere wearing appallingly short skirts and Basque bodices- immediately tended to the boy, putting out the fire and taking him across the corridor into another room. Before the door closed again, I could make out a room with three other boys in lavish robes, leaning on divans around a table; staring with interest and pointing their wands at something that looked like a jewel chest. They were drinking, laughing and making loud comments in French on Phillipe's notorious bad luck and clumsiness, while several Lutines tied fairy-locks in their long hairs. Another boy, Timothée, rose and took the place of the boy on fire, who I surmised was Phillipe.

I tapped Gellert on the shoulder and asked in a whisper so as not to disturb our own escort, another Lutine in a _risqué_ outfit of red and white candy cane stripes: "What is this place?"

Gellert replied: "I told you we were going to a café for refreshments. Now we are here at _Le Café des Lutines_"

"When you mentioned going to a café, I honestly thought we were going to _Les Deux Magots_ or _Le Café de la Paix_ for _un espresso_, _un demi, _or a bite to eat. This café caters to a different clientele."

He laughed his boisterous laugh: "You think? Are the names of those cafés in your trusty Baedeker or has Monsieur Dumbledore been to Paris before?"

He had been making fun of my tourist guide since I had the bad idea of casting an overtly enthusiastic _Accio_ Baedeker the minute I had found out we were going to Paris. I didn't much mind. I was feeling happily mellow after two days of sightseeing and strolling around the World Fair, watching the marvels of modern age displayed against the magnificent background of Paris. At Gellert's insistence, I had been hoisted up the incredible structure of the recently inaugurated Eiffel Tower and watched the city laid out at my feet as the sun went down in the horizon. I hate heights. That is why I seldom if ever use a broom. But the view was well worth it.

That first night we'd had dinner at _Le Meurice_… the one and only _Le_ _Meurice_… where we currently had a whole suite at our disposal. Blessedly Vladislav thought time-traveling was the devil's work, so instead of the bloody devil, we had a Muggle valet provided by the hotel at our disposal. I didn't miss Vladislav, but I had to give it to the vampire, going by the luggage he had packed for us, he had impeccable taste and a firsthand knowledge of what the discriminating gentlemen wore back in 1889.

Then we had enjoyed an evening at the opera in famous _Palais Garnier,_ where we had listened to Bizet's Carmen in our very own box. It was a marvelous performance with the original Carmen, Mezzo-soprano Célestine Galli-Marié, doing her last tour in the role to raise funds for a Bizet memorial. Gellert, who turned out to be as much of a fan as myself, was marveled at the fact that such a wonderful piece could have been a failure during its premier back in 1875; though in the next fifteen years it had lived up to the premonitory comment by Tchaikovsky that it would become the most popular opera in the world.

During the intermezzo, drinking some really fine cognac, we had heard a humorously recount of the latest gossip by our box' neighbor: a skinny brunet who ingratiated himself with the Opera patrons with his tasty bits of sacrificial meat. For the price of a glass, he explained that soprano Sigrid Arnoldson, who was hailed as the successor of her compatriot Jenny Lind as the new Swedish Nightingale, was playing the role of the young ingenue _Michaela_ on stage and the role of fatal seductress off stage: rumor had it she was sleeping both with the tenor playing _Don José_ and the bass playing _Escamillo_. People were holding their breaths for the duel scene of that performance within the performance.

After the neighbor gossip went to spread his tasty bit of meanness to the other patrons, Gellert and I were left to chat the intermezzo away discussing the topics of Love, Destiny and Honor that drive the libretto. We had disagree in one particular aspect of it: Gellert Grindelwald had laughed at the thought that a mother's kiss could protect her son from a witch seductress using love potions.

He had said: "I understand Muggles believing something like that, but the idea of an educated wizard believing in such nonsense as protective motherly love, especially one as brilliant as you, well, that I really cannot understand. Surely you comprehend the nature of a spell that can protect against a potion used to bend the will, which, by the way, is one little short step from an unforgivable curse."

I protested: "Love is a kind of magic on its own. There are precedents of powerful ancient magic that predates formal spells, some even that predates the human ability of speech. There is nothing in the laws of will and energy conversion that may lead you to believe that speech is inherent to magic."

"Even for non-verbal casting you make the words in your mind. Magic and speech are linked."

"Words may be the easier way to channel will. But that is not always the case. Not even in purely human magic. How many times have you heard of a particularly gifted wizarding toddler Disapparating and Apparating miles away from home just because they needed their mumsy to kiss their ouchie? Those outburst of magical power are not related to speech but to pure will and desire. There is a Polish wizard who has published some interesting insights on the subject in Charms Monthly last month: Kacper... I cannot quite remember his last name… I think maybe Przybyszewski or Przybylski. Your great-aunt is subscribed to many periodicals, you should find that one and read it. Anyway, comparing a desperate schoolgirl pinning from unrequited love who concocts a hasty love potion and a hardened seductress casting the _Imperius_ curse sounds like a stretch to me, my friend."

He had beamed at me: "The difference between the potion and the curse is only in the degree of the damage, and even that is debatable. A disregard for the right of self-determination and the intent to bend someone's will to yours is there. Who says the desperate schoolgirl pinning from unrequited love won't end being the Dark Arts seductress? Remember, Albus, every winding path starts by taking the first step, whether it is towards light or darkness… And both scenarios can easily end in _le crime passionnel_. Are you aware this is the very first time you call me your friend?"

I sniggered: "Really? It must be the cognac. I'm a pitiable drinker, I cannot hold my liquor."

* * *

"There is a note, this one looks fairly recent: I've confirmed my intuition about love as powerful magic after my experience with Lily Potter. As for Gellert's take on a love potion being almost as bad as the _Imperius Curse_… Merope Gaunt's story makes for a compelling case. Perhaps there is also some measure of true in destiny playing its hand in human affairs too. At times our lives seem like a Ravel theme playing endlessly over. All we ever do is adding new instruments to give the appearance of complexity to what is, in essence, a rather simple childish air." Hermione sighed: "Destiny or not, these two were both brilliant and uncannily intuitive, that's for sure." Then she laughed: "I did that."

Harry asked: "You did what?"

"Disapparating and Apparating miles from home because I wanted my mum badly: from the house in Peckham Hill St. all the way to the nurse's counter in the hospital at Lebanon where my mum was doing maxillofacial reconstructive surgery for Doctors Without Borders. It happened after cutting myself with the cookie jar. Though I wasn't a toddler, I was five at the time. I had built a Heath Robinson contraption to help me get the cookies. I miscalculated the weight of the jar so, instead of going down gently inside the basket, it dropped and fell down crashing on the counter. A piece of the ceramic was imbedded in my arm. I was crying like crazy, curly hair like a bird nest and t-shirt bloodied, when one of the nurses recognized me from a picture my mum had on her desk and took me to her. My grandma was terrified, she had been nodding off in front of the telly, the noise woke her up, she saw the mess in the kitchen, a trail of blood and I was gone, gone. Of course, I couldn't apparate back home. I wasn't even sure how I had done it in the first place. That's when the Ministry's Aurors came and oblivated everyone but my mum and I. They took us home, my dad was already there, whisked away from his practice. Mum, dad and grandma kept saying that it all must be a dream, but the evidence was irrefutable. And it also explained some other incidents. While the Auror supervisor chatted with them; this very nice Auror lady chatted with me about the value of being patient. She told me we cannot always get what we want the minute we want to. She showed me a moving pictures book and talked to me about Hogwarts. She said that, if I was patient, I would get my letter of admission soon enough, in the mean time I had to try not to give my parents such a big scare. She said I should try to control my emotions so my powers weren't triggered off. It never happened again. I was patient and, when I got my letter, I counted the days to going to Hogwarts, it took almost a year between my birthday and the 1st of September. That's why we are carefully planning the children birthdays."

Ron smiled: "Always knew you were especial, luv, I guess we will have to be especially mindful of the kids using magic too, hope they inherit your patience along with your brains."

She sighed deeply: "I'm not so sure about my brains… Is it weird that I find myself agreeing with Gellert Grindelwald? I think love potions are as wrong on principle as the _Imperius Curse_. Why is it that he doesn't sound as evil as I thought he would?"

Ginny said: "Grandma Lavinia always said that clever devils wear many different skins, Hermione. And she wasn't talking about Polyjuice Potion. Gellert Grindelwald was really clever, I think we can all agree on that."

Hermione nodded and continued reading

* * *

Gellert insisted that the formal beginning of our friendship called for a celebration. We had capped that glorious first evening with drinks at some dubious _guinguette_ at _Montmartre;_ where we had gotten so drunk on the house's cheap wine that they had kicked us out for singing Carmen's Habanera – _L'amour est enfant de Boh__è__me, il n'ai jamais, jamais connu de loi_\- at the top of our lungs. We had made our way back to the hotel stumbling and laughing down cobblestone streets in the first lights of day. I didn't remember ever having a better time in my life. I honestly didn't feel like fighting with him, not even if it was all friendly banter; so I didn't bite at his quip about my tourist guide.

I simply replied to the question of if I had been to Paris before: "Just once, after a transmutation exhibition at Beauxbaton, their transmutation teacher tried to convince me to change schools. Madame Perenelle thought the city would be the best scenario to make her bid." Then I smiled, unable to resist: "So this is not the first time someone offers to lay Paris at my feet for the price of my immortal soul."

Gellert smiled back: "Ah, so witty… So why is it that you weren't enrolled at Beauxbaton? Henry IV the Huguenot thought this city was well worth a Catholic mass. Isn't Parisian splendor enough to tempt you, Monsieur Dumbledore? This city is quite seductive. You must be truly incorruptible..."

"Not at all, I'm incapable of resisting any temptation. I think I showed you that last night, my friend. As for Madame Perenelle's bid, I was thoroughly seduced. The relative nearness of the school to Paris was a very persuasive argument. Her very charming husband, Nicolas, was another fine example of the advantages that studying at Beauxbaton could afford me. They offered to personally tutor me and even to pay for my tuition. I felt incredibly flattered. I think that, if it hadn't been for my family obligations, I may have seriously considered it. In any case, we supped at their home, we didn't go to any of the famous Parisian cafés, and I was hoping I might get to go to one this time around."

He sneered: "Hmm, I'm starting to feel a certain way about your family obligations, my friend. And, nonsense, what would be the fun in going to one of that tourist traps? We can do far better than that."

Apparently Gellert and I had very different concepts of fun. Something I confirmed once we reached our destination. We were taken by our Lutine to a decidedly green room. There were green velvety walls that resembled moss and comfortable tufted divans in Shamrock green. In the middle of the room there was a table that looked like an old moss covered tree stump; over it flowed a small greenish waterfall of what appeared to be absinthe, running from its source atop a diminutive icy green mountain into a greenish white pond where fairies in every shade of green imaginable were hovering and looking at their reflections in _la louche_. The table was set with the height of absinthiana: water carafes, Pontarlier reservoir swirl glasses and silver slotted spoons which are the telltale accoutrements of vice. There was also a healthy provision of sugar cubes. Either we were expecting company or Earl Grindelwald intended to be a while at _Le Café des Lutines_ having refreshments.

One of the green fairies was so engrossed by its own image that it collided with another sending the poor thing splashing into the pond. Before it could drown or freeze, I picked it up, set it gently inside a glass and said: "_Fait attention, mademoiselle, vous allez vous saoûler_." The fairy buzzed coquettishly, shook off the liquid from her green butterfly wings, flew out of the glass, fluttered over a sugar lump, licked it and went back to the absinthe pond where it resumed looking engrossed at its reflection.

Gellert was watching bemused: "You do realize these dumb things don't understand a word you are saying? They are just here to round up the decoration." He picked up the sugar cube the fairy had licked, dipped it in absinthe and ate it. He sat on a divan and signaled the one in front of him invitingly.

I sat with an ironic smirk: "Yes, whoever did this has quite the sense of style. And I'm a generous spirit that never dispenses courtesy or kindness expecting it back in return, Monsieur Grindelwald."

He chuckled: "You are truly rare, Monsieur Dumbledore."

"Of course, I'm the one who is weird, not whoever designed this retreat for lush _fées verts _manned by Rabelaisian Lutine waitresses, nor the old pervert bedecking the naked Christmas tree girl, who I think was a Veela; nor the drunken dilettantes who were… What were the boys doing, by the way?"

He chuckled: "I didn't say weird, I said rare, as in out of the ordinary. An opinion I apparently share with the greatest alchemists that have ever lived and who are alternatively rumored to be dead or still alive. And you have been to their house... I'm impressed! You don't happen to remember the address, do you?"

I tried not to beam at his compliment: "Even if what you think was true, and I were someone who could do wrong by friends who trust me; such powerful friends would take precautions to avoid betrayal. Besides, Perenelle and Nicolas are fairly common names. You can't assume that..."

"No, Albus, please, keep your friends' secrets, but don't lie to me. I'll extend you the same courtesy."

I was about to protest that I wasn't lying but I couldn't: "Surely you understand that I'm not at liberty to say…"

"As I've said, never, ever, play poker, my friend. In this game of Knights and Knaves you are quite obviously a Knight. But we may have found your game… The boys were playing Fire Crab Roulette."

I didn't think I was a Knight, but for someone with so many secrets to keep, I was a rather bad liar. Wondering if I was foolishly trusting a Knave to be sincere with me, I asked: "What on Merlin's green Earth is Fire Crab Roulette?"

"Let's start by saying that a fire crab is a magical beast that hails from Fiji. It looks like a bejeweled tortoise and it sort of explodes from, well, you know… when it feels attacked. Legend has it that some wizarding castaways were trying to figure out who should try to Apparate out of the island when they found it. As you know, apparating out of a place when you aren't entirely sure of where you are is dangerous. So the castaways are supposed to have devised a game to let luck decide for them, profiting from the beast's bizarre defenses. The game has recently become popular among young French dilettantes. Though the version they favor here is a game of skill more than luck. You play it by…"

* * *

Hermione interrupted her reading: "Sorry, I think I might have skipped too far ahead. Yes, I knew it, the pages were glued together! That's it, after you leave tonight, I'll go through all this and make sure that it is in good reading order. OK, here it is where we left it last night."

Ron protested: "Why don't you finish this part? It sounds really interesting."

Hermione raised an eyebrow: "What's the interesting part: the Christmas tree Veela, the drunken absinthe fairies or the elves with risqué outfits?"

Ron blushed: "Well, the part about the Fire Crab Roulette sounds interesting."

Harry looked at his friend: "I thought you'd had more than your fair share of rear-exploding beasts when Hagrid gave us lessons on Blast-Ended Skrewts." He shuddered at the memory: "I know I have."

Ginny giggled but pulled her husband's shirt and said: "I kind of want to find out about the Fire Crab Roulette too. Call it weird pregnant craving."

Hermione denied: "Sorry but I just don't see the appeal."

The Weasley brother and sister shared a smile and Ron explained. "I guess it is because you weren't raised in a wizarding family. Growing up Fire Crab Roulette was the stuff of legend, everyone knew someone who had a cousin, who had supposedly played it and won a fortune or was horribly maimed, depending on who was telling it. But the truth is no one knew anyone who had actually played it himself. Fred and George claimed they had played it at their first year in Hogwarts, but they couldn't tell a fire crab from a knarl in the magical encyclopedia. And the game has been illegal for ages. Plus you supposedly get to keep the critter's shell with its jewels, if you survive it, and they couldn't produce any evidence. So by the time I was nine, I had figured out it was all rubbish older kids said to impress younger kids. But, reading that Albus Dumbledore saw it being played gives the legend credit. The idea that he may have played it himself is, well it is mind-blowing. He should have included that fact in his chocolate frog cards. Kids would have loved it! Lots of street cred from that, I tell you."

Ginny beamed: "Yeah, makes me want to go back in time to tell the snotty girls in Ottery St. Catchpole that I drank tea with someone who played the game. It would have given me more panache than all of their fancy new training Quidditch brooms ever did. I hope he wins. I really want to find out."

Hermione frowned: "We don't even know if he played! The game sounds a bit dumb and he wasn't."

Harry smiled: "Now I really want to find out if Dumbledore played the game. Don't you?"

Hermione rolled her eyes: "Oh for the love of… OK, we'll read about the Fire Crab Roulette and then we'll go back to reading the story in the proper order. I should have taken the time to order these papers already."

* * *

"The game has recently become popular among young French dilettantes. Though the version they favor here is a game of skill more than luck. You play it by making a loud noise which prompts the beast to retreat within its shell, then you spin it so you cannot tell heads from tails and you take turns spinning and poking it with your wand. You are either lucky enough not to set it off or you are skilled enough to cast a spell to avoid getting hurt if it does. The standard is casting _Protego_, but there are no restrictions, really. You play it taking turns until you get burnt, in which case you have to leave the table. You win if you are the last one standing unharmed. Most games end without a winner."

"That has to be the most stupid thing I've ever heard in my life! Who'd want to play a game like that?"

* * *

Ron shouted: "Come on, luv! Give it a chance before saying your opinion."

Hermione laughed: "I was merely reading what Dumbledore wrote. But I wholeheartedly agree, it sounds like a really stupid game. I knew he wouldn't play it."

Ginny smiled: "You can't be sure about that. That Grindelwald was a persuasive chap. Keep reading and we'll find out."

* * *

Gellert smirked derisively: "I suppose there is a particular reason for every player out there. In general, some gamblers do it for the thrill. For others the jeweled carapace seems to be sufficient incentive, the jewels are valuable for obvious reasons and the carapace makes for superb cauldrons, in the hands of the right artisan, a fire crab carapace can produce powerful potions like no other material can. And the plastron (that's the shallow shell right over the belly of the animal) which looks a bit like tortoiseshell, can be polished to a metallic sheen and used to create a really rare item called a Pensieve, which is..."

I opened my eyes wide: "I know what a Pensieve is, Hogwarts' Headmasters have one in their office. For better or worse I spent quite a bit of time there…" I sighed: "I see, the treasure chest was not a chest but the actual animal." I frowned: "Wait, if the winner keeps the shell, does that mean the animal is killed? Is that when the game stops? That adds barbaric to stupid as qualifiers for this game."

* * *

Hermione punctuated: "Again, I agree with Dumbledore."

Ginny sighed: "I guess the crab does get killed from all the exploding. I mean, the game sounds fun for the people playing it, not so much for the fire crab. I never really thought about it."

Hermione smiled: "Dumbledore did, because that was just the kind of person he was. He always thought about consequences and he was really kind. My first year at Hogwarts I felt so out of step sometimes. I had thought the reason I felt that way in the non-magical world was because I was a witch. And when magic didn't sort out all my troubles, well, it was a bit of a disappointment. Dumbledore was always there for me. He always made time to listen me out. Sometimes we didn't even talk, we just sat in his office drinking tea while he knitted. I don't think I could have made it through the first few months, before we became friends, without him. I know he probably refers to himself that way in the diaries as a joke, but he was a really kind person. Which makes it all the harder to understand how he could fall for Grindelwald's hogwash."

Harry shrugged: "I don't think anyone is absolutely good or evil. Dumbledore told me that it is not our nature that makes us one way or another, but our choices. And choices are hard, you never know how your actions are going to turn out or who can become a casualty. We all make mistakes, sometimes we have to back track to get things right. I loved the man, but some of his choices I never really understood. I think that Mr. Doge was right, we should not come to any decision, before reading through the diaries."

Hermione nodded and continued reading.

* * *

Gellert chuckled: "You have a poet's tender heart, Monsieur Dumbledore, extending your courtesy to fairies, worrying about fire crabs. Alas, the animal is dead from the moment it is taken out of Fiji. You can have it in soup or play with it, either way its destiny is set. Unless you want to keep it as a very dangerous, expensive pet, they can only survive at a certain temperature and with a very costly beryl diet. You'll also need to procure a permit from your Ministry. That or keep it on the Q.T."

I was all set when it came to dangerous expensive keeps on the Q.T. I replied: "Ta-ra-ra-Boom-de-ay. I cannot afford an expensive pet on the quiet or on the loud. That's all the more reason not to play. I won't sully my hands with innocent blood, Monsieur Grindelwald."

He sneered: "Then you should do as Shaw and abstain from meat- animal and from music halls.-"

"I've never been to a music hall, I learnt the song at Hogwarts, Anti-Muggle sentiment spared Lottie Collins' shapely legs. An acquaintance had a lively scantly clothed moving photograph of the woman skirtdancing that he liked to show around. And I won't go as far as to subscribe to _The Vegetarian_, but I do see Shaw's point when he reproaches us for the treatment we dispense to animals. They are our faithful companions in the voyage of life and we are not really civil to them. I like meat too much to completely abstain from it, though my personal circumstances permit me to avoid becoming a tomb for animal carcasses – as Shaw calls it-on a regular basis. Mind you, I do it gladly whenever my purse allows or when a friend invites me." At the risk of sounding sanctimonious I carried on: "However, quoting Shaw: 'Blood sacrifices are not in my line.' The pleasure of killing for killing's own sake is most certainly not one that I plan to acquire, Gellert. You said it yourself, you only need to take the first step; so I won't take this step..."

"I'm not asking you to take Isaac to the tabernacle. It's just a game, the only thing killed is time. Pity, I think you could gain from the experience of playing Fire Crab Roulette. But it is your choice, Albus."

He got up from the divan took one of the Pontarlier glasses, a slotted spoon in the shape of a seashell, a sugar cube and served himself some absinthe from the waterfall. Then he picked up a carafe, with his hands, and poured iced water slowly on the glass until the drink took on the milky look it is infamous for. He tasted it for sweetness, considered it right and shooed away a fairy that had come to sit on the tip of the spoon and was licking the residues of sugar.

"Yes, you only kill time and the fire crab." I looked at his glass: "You could have done that far easily with your wand."

He sat back with his drink and said: "I refuse to experience all my life through a wooden stick, sir. I like doing some things with my bare hands. Touch, just as all other senses, add to the experience. And I'm not one to deny myself from all the learning opportunities raw direct experience has to offer."

"Ah, _touché,_ have you played Fire Crab Roulette?"

"No, Monsieur Dumbledore."

"Do you intend to, Monsieur Grindelwald?"

"I think you already know the answer to that question, Albus."

"I guess I do. I don't think we are here for the decor. And it's obvious by your contemptuous tone that you don't feel enticed by the jewels. Finally, I cannot imagine someone risking getting hurt for a cauldron, no matter how good the potions it brews are; so, tell me, is the thrill really worth it, Monsieur Grindelwald?"

He leaned on the divan, with his elbow on the tufted seat and smiled: "That is a rather complex question, Monsieur Dumbledore."

"I think it is pretty straightforward. You could even answer it with a simple yes or no."

"Fair enough, what is really complex is a proper answer. Saying yes wouldn't explain anything to you. It would be easier if I showed you."

"I'm really not interested in playing this game, Gellert."

"I respect your ethical objections, Albus. You do not want to play the game, but… Would you mind watching me play? It may help you understand."

* * *

Hermione bit her lip: "Merlin's wand, he was persuasive and sneaky. There is a number here and a note in a different ink. There seem to be annotations added on a later dates all over the diaries. Do you think I should just read them as we go on?"

Harry asked: "What would you do if you were reading this just by yourself?"

Hermione laughed: "I always read footnotes, but some people consider them boring."

Ron figuring out who some people were, snorted: "You can read the footnotes, luv. I'm not going to complain."

"OK, I'll read them as we go and I'll only mention they are notes if they don't fit right in the story."

* * *

I should have said no and gone back to the suite at _Le Meurice_. The same objections I had to playing the game applied to watching it being played. But it is easy to forget that bearing witness to wrongdoing, without at least trying to stop it, makes us complicit. And Gellert Grindelwald was good at assuaging my doubts. Mine was nothing but a token protest. It's my shame: I never really protested.

I said: "I'm not sure, the beast will still be killed."

"The animal will be killed whether you are watching or not. Half the rooms here are occupied by wizards playing. Wizards who are playing to win the prize and the prize is the crab's shell. The rest goes to the kitchens. I was not kidding about the soup, fire crab soup is the house specialty. Closing your eyes to it won't make this any less real."

I inhaled deeply: "Can you play the game alone? That way no one has to win."

He smiled: "Now you are grasping at straws, Albus. You are smarter than that. The beast won't be spared, my friend. Like in all gambles, the house never loses. As it is, most games end without a winner. So if you forfeit the prize, they will just use it for another game. It is a popular game, which is why I'm sure I won't have trouble finding another opponent. Especially since I'll be covering both our entry fees. There are professional gamblers waiting to be invited always on call. So, would you agree to watch me play?"

I muttered ironically: "Oh, the more I learn about this place the more _Le_ _Café des Lutines_ grows on me… I wish we hadn't come here at all."

He sneered: "You keep focusing on changing that which has already passed. We are here, so deal with it or leave. But if you stay, would you watch me play, my friend? I'm going to. Because that's why I came here in the first place. I need one of these carapaces and ten years from now, the game is forbidden. You magical westerner folk really enjoy forbidding things."

"Can't you buy one? You said they could be kept as pets, some of them must die naturally. I'm sure..."

He laughed mirthlessly: "Albus, I wouldn't have traveled ten years into the past, if I could just have walked into _Les Grands Magasins du Louvre_ and bought one. These are rare beasts, hard to find in Fiji or elsewhere. And harvesting the carapace and the plastron without destroying their qualities requires especial skill, it has to be done within minutes of the beast's demise, while the heart is still beating, in one single cut motion while the shell is red hot from the explosions, the Lutins' dexterous calloused pointy fingers with razor sharp claws are particularly good for it. The Lutins are also very particular about what they perceive to be naughty or nice, so they will not sell one to me, for they say it would be unfair to all the other players. And, despite the Muggles associating these elves to their preposterous _P__è__re Noël,_ both the female and the male of the species are fierce warriors; those deft claws of theirs cannot only cut through fire crab's meat, you know? And the place is crawling with them. So I cannot very well take one by force. I have to earn it. I had hoped that if we were both to play, it would guarantee I'd get a carapace in mint condition for just the price of our entry fees," He laughed despondently: "Now it seems I will have to win one on my own. I'll have to bet all on my Seer's luck."

"Merlin's beard, Gellert! If you had told me beforehand why you wanted us to come here I might..."

"I didn't think you would come if I had told you what we are doing here. What's done is done. So what is it going to be Albus, are you staying or leaving?"

I puckered my lips and clawed at the lower one as I sometimes do when faced by a particularly difficult problem. Gellert looked at me questioningly. I sighed: "OK, seems the crabs are going to die whatever I do. So I'll stay and watch you play. Though, for the love of me, I don't know why you need a carapace so badly and I don't know how watching you play will help you at all."

"I do and you will see soon enough. Plus it will help me explain the thrill of the game to you."


	4. Falkbeer's Counter Gambit

Chapter 4 Falkbeer Counter-Gambit (Blacks counterattack)

"_There is only one thing that can form a bond between men, and that is gratitude… We cannot give someone else greater power over us than we have ourselves." Montesquieu in Persian Letters__ (1721) _

Gellert rose his wand and summoned our Lutine waitress. He made the arrangements, paid the elf an absolutely ridiculous amount of galleons and, after a small while, a couple of Lutines came back pushing a dinner cart with a fire crab covered in green emeralds on a platter and another platter covered by a lid. They set all over the tree stump mossy table, which could be detached from the waterfall. As soon as they did, a head, very much like a tortoise's head, pocked out from the jeweled shell, taking in its surroundings.

He explained: "I thought the emeralds would go well with the room."

I smiled listlessly. Seeing the fire crab made it all more real. I started feeling a bit sick.

I wish that my malaise had been bad enough to make me stand up and leave. But I was 300 hundred miles and ten years away from home and in such weird surroundings that it was not easy to hold onto any sense of reality. I was also pulled towards giving in both by my curiosity and the need to please a friend. A bad combination that makes it harder to stick to your guns and do what you know is the right thing. Which is what makes standing up to your friends such a big act of bravery.

I was staring at the poor beast with a sense of foreboding, when the door swung open and an imposing man in an old fashioned wizarding dinner frock walked in. His clothes seemed outdated even for 1889. He was older than us, twenty two, twenty three, but not older than that, which was not that much older to justify such fashion choice. Perhaps he couldn't afford a new one, just like me. He sported a bushy blond mustache, closely cropped hair and had a martial air about him. He was handsome in the roughed way outdoorsmen often are. He addressed the Lutine in German. I realized he must be one of the professional gamblers Gellert had mentioned and that he was probably used to have to communicate with the French dilettantes through the Lutines.

Gellert didn't let the Lutine translate, he addressed the man directly in German of which I didn't speak one single word. I took care of rectifying that later on.

The man with the bushy blond mustache bowed and Gellert bowed back. Then he looked at my direction and posed a question. Gellert denied. The man nodded again.

They faced each other, one of the Lutines flipped a coin, the bushy mustache called it. I don't know if he won or lost, but, without any further delay, the man bowed to Gellert, pulled his wand of ivory white Aspen from a pocket in his frock, marched purposefully towards the table and waited.

The Lutine waitress sounded a hunting horn that had been under a silver platter and the fire crab, who had been eying the fairies with somewhat sinister intent, rapidly hid in its shell. Gellert pointed the wand to the beast and made it spin around as a top. Apparently if it was your turn to poke the beast, the other player spun it.

The man walked round the table a couple of times. Then with clockwork precision he shoved his wand on one of the shell's extremes, aiming inside to hit a soft part. The tortoise head of the fire crab poked out angrily biting at the Aspen wand that the bushy blond mustache wizard barely had time to pull away. The game of fire crab roulette had begun.

It was Earl Grindelwald's turn. The same ritual of the Lutine sounding the horn, Gellert bowing and bushy mustache spinning the crab happened. Then Gellert walked around the table as bushy mustache had done. I held by breath when he poked the beast; a terrible rumble resounded and not two seconds later a big explosion of sizzling green colored flames came from the fire crab's behind. Gellert had barely had time to cast _Protego_.

I let the air slowly out: "That was too close call for comfort."

The conceited fool smiled as if he had done something grand: "It is good form to cast at the very last minute possible. It is also good form not to stare at your opponent while they try their luck. Though, since you are not playing, I guess it is fine for you to sit there gawking at us."

The Lutine horn was blown again, Gellert spun the crab and bushy mustache went around the table.

I cocked an eyebrow: "Blessed be old fashioned chivalry. Can there be good form for this savagery?"

Before Gellert could answer, bushy mustache who had been circling the table, poked the fire crab and another barrage of green flames exploded. Bushy mustache disapparated also at the last minute possible. He apparated near the absinthe waterfall. With a flick of his wand a glass submerged itself in the fairy pond and flew to his hand. He leaned on a mossy wall, sipping his sugarless absinthe and watching the fairies play, with polite disengagement.

The score was one to one and it was Earl Grindelwald's turn again. He poked and nothing happened. Then it was bushy mustache's turn, he again disapparated when the crab exploded and went to stand by the pond sipping sugarless absinthe with dispassionate calm. Gellert went next, the fire crab exploded too and he cast _Protego _at the very last minute.

It went on like that for a while. The ritual of the horn blowing, the crab spinning, and then poking was beginning to get on my nerves. It was as if we were in the middle of one of Lewis Carroll's Hooka pipe dreams, perpetually performing the same senseless ritual over and over and over. A manic Red Queen race in which we had to run madly, just to stay in the same place.

I began feeling lightheaded. We hadn't had lunch; and my empty stomach didn't help me feel grounded to earth. I got up and walked to the absinthe pond just to have something to do besides gawking at them. I stopped myself short of serving a glass. I had heard so many terrible stories about absinthe. Supposedly you could get hooked on it with just one sip. A part of me thought those were just tales spread by teetotalers, but I didn't want to risk it. So, instead, I grabbed a glass of icy cold water and a handful of sugar lumps. I was about to eat them when the same fairy I had rescued hovered over them and gave the one on the top of the pile a playful lick.

I signaled no with my finger, pulled my hand away and ate the cubes saying: "_No, no, mademoiselle._ _Ç__a ne se fait pas_."

The fairy fluttered overs my lips licking at the sugar crumbs. I puckered them to try to shoo it, but it kept stealing licks from my lips until I gently blew it away. Then I wiped off the residues of sugar with my tongue to keep the fairy away. But that didn't work, it sat on the top of my head and I had to shake it until I made my red locks fly about me to make it go away. The fairy fluttered around me reproachfully and then it went back to gaze at its reflection.

Bushy mustache, who had seen the whole thing, chuckled. So gawking at someone who wasn't playing wasn't considered rude. And perhaps he understood more French than he had let on or the language of gesture conveyed all that he needed to know of my clownish exchange with _Mademoiselle Fée_ _Vert_.

I went back to sit on the divan. It was bushy mustache's turn, he shot me a bemused look before going around the table and, before poking the fire crab, said something to Gellert that made him laugh out loud. When the crab went off, he apparated by the absinthe fountain, picked up his glass and leaned on the wall.

I asked: "What did he say? Was it about me?"

"He commented on your kindness towards fairies and on your furiously red head. He said with the white jacket you are wearing you make a charming toadstool for the sugar plump fairy to adorn. It is a witticism that only works in German. He is Swabian and a gambler, he is bound to be at least a little superstitious. He thinks toadstools mushrooms are _die glückspilz_ literally lucky mushroom. So he thinks you are here as a charming luck, a lucky charm." Gellert chuckled: "What about that? It works in English too. Hmm, my charming luck, my lucky charm, I like the sound of it." He rolled the words in his tongue and ended with a lopsided grin: "I will have to save that in my arsenal for later use in impressing Viennese or English debutantes at balls."

The mustached Swabian, recognizing the word _glückspilz,_ nodded smiling brightly at me and rose his glass in a toast.

Oh my, weren't we witty? This must really be a wide world, if someone can think a poisonous mushroom is lucky, as toadstools -_Amanita muscaria-_ are particularly toxic. And it must be an even wider world if someone could think calling you mushroom, poisonous or not, is flattering. But, then again… What do I know? I am not an English debutant.

I was not a debutant, but not really a man of the world either. Crossing the borders of species, I went from toadstool into _Amanita rubescens _(blusher mushroom), I went red to the tip of my pointy nose. It is one disadvantage of being furiously redhead, at times you blush without really wanting to. In other circumstances, I would have challenged bushy mustache to a duel, but I decided against it. Under the cheap frock the man looked sleek and dangerous. If memory served right, back in1889, when we presently were, duel to death hadn't been banned yet from all the continent. Perhaps it had already been in France, but I just couldn't positively remember. In any case, I didn't want to get into a mess when I was, technically, ten years from being officially of age. I was trying to be a conscientious time-traveler.

Gellert went around the crab once and I braced myself for what could be another explosion of green colored flames, but he continue to go round the table with officious slowness as he spoke: "Are you familiar with the tenets of Zen Buddhism, Monsieur Dumbledore?"

"Sorry, what?"

"I asked if you are familiar with the tenets of Zen Buddhism, Monsieur Dumbledore."

I snorted: "I heard you the first time, but, do you think this is really the best time for starting a discussion on obscure Asian religions, Monsieur Grindelwald?"

He laughed softly, going around the table: "I think this time is as good as any, my friend."

I chuckled: "I think your concept of opportunity is really skewed. Shouldn't you be concentrating on what you are doing? That crab could go off at any minute."

"After having fired so much it won't go off unless I poke it. And nothing in the rules says that I have to do it right away. I'm allowed to take all the time I need. In fact, some may considered it a strategy to get on my opponent's nerves. Something that may be useful, if I'm ever going to win this game. I'm playing with a very skilled player. Which figures, I'm sure the Lutins don't want to make this gamble easy. Besides, talking relaxes me, you don't want me to play a dangerous game like this being tense? I may get hurt." He continued his slow walk around the table.

"Gellert, you are a far better schemer than this; you degrade by resorting to obvious manipulation."

"Then chat with me, Albus, just because you enjoy it and so do I. You'll be my _glückspilz._"

I breathed in: "To answer your question: No, I'm not familiar with any aspect of Zen Buddhism."

"I am, I used to have the most engaging conversations on the subject by owl and crane with this charming witch at Mahoutokoro. We got really close, so she let me call her Uzume-chan and I let her call me Gella-kun. Did you know they use ideograms called _kanjis_ for writing?"

I don't know if his purposeful walking was having any effect on the Swabian, but it sure was having it on me. I replied tensely: "Yes, I'm aware of it."

"The implications that has for the way they write their names is that there is no set way for writing them, which gives them a certain leeway for being creative. Uzume-chan wrote hers with the _kanjis_ for cloud, pearl and gorgeous. Combine them with her family name Mikoto which she wrote with the Chinese character for noble and it can be understood to mean either noble or true harbinger of day. That was enough to have me pick her up from a stack of correspondents when I was at Durmstrang Institute. I was quite a romantic at twelve, and the name seemed so poetical..."

There was no rushing him, so I decided to let him play his game within the game: "It does sound poetical, the name I mean. Though, for my life I don't know how this relates to religion or gambling."

"Well, the tie in to religion is readily apparent if you are aware that in Shinto, an ancient religion of the isles, Ame-mo-Uzume-no-mikoto is the goddess of dawn and the sister of Amaterasu Omikami, the sun goddess; from whom the Emperors of the islands claim to be descended. Mikoto Uzume-chan is the heir to a wizarding family that could have claimed the throne of Japan, before the Statute of Secrecy, that is. Zen Buddhism, however, is not a religion at all but a life philosophy."

I was interested despite myself: "Is there a difference?"

"There is one capital difference, religion is often used to create a wall of delusion which obscures reality. Zen Buddhism aims to do the exact opposite, it aspires to allow you to lift the veil of Maya and see things for what they truly are. One of the ways in which they seek to achieve it is by having you practice living in a state of perfect present."

I frowned: "I'm not sure what you mean by a state of perfect present."

"In this life we are of usual so troubled by the past and the future that we seldom allow ourselves to be fully present in our here and now, Albus. If we managed to devoid our mind of the worries of things that have gone by and of things that may or may not come -which are in essence both things we cannot control- then we would be able to achieve that perfect state of being in the present. That state would allow us to live each instant to its fullest promise of what that instant should really be. Achieve it and the future you want unfurls itself one instant after the other and you won't regret what has passed."

"I must say that state of present sounds really hard to achieve, plus there is no way you can live solely in the present without any regard of the consequences of your actions and of your history..."

He laughed: "Albus, take it from a Seer, and by that I mean someone used to seeing past and future as infinite arrays of possibilities: there is no way that you can measure and ponder all the possible consequences of your every action. Try it and that is the surest way of plunging yourself into paralyzing doubt, which won't allow you to move forward, let alone of letting go of burdens that ground you."

I sighed: "I don't know if I could ever do it. I cannot escape my past and giving up all thought of my future sounds scary, at times hope for the future seems to be all I have. Not these past two days…"

He smiled: "Fear comes from uncertainty. There is no fear, my friend, if you are certain of living each instant to the fullest. I think that is the appeal of this game to me. Everything in it conspires to make you live in the here and now, the repetition of the ritual of the horn, walking around the table. It's like mesmerism. You can do nothing else but just concentrate in whether poking the beast will set it off or not. There is no better way to live an instant to the fullest than when you are betting your life on it."

For a moment it seemed as if he were going to finally poke the crab, but he didn't, and I couldn't help crying out: "Oh by Merlin's wand, just poke the bloody crab and be done with it!"

And he did, to a great fanfare of green colored flames. For some reason I had known that was going to happen, I also knew that Gellert was not going to be able to cast _Protego_. I saw it all in slow motion, unable to lift a finger to help him. I didn't know if by intervening I was going to make him lose the game. I also didn't want to get in the way, if he actually had time to cast anything. I was paralyzed by doubt, just as he had said I would be, stuck pondering every possible consequence of my actions.

Somehow he manage to Disapparate and Apparate near the door, which swung open brusquely to let in a drunk angry wizard. By the cries in the corridor, the wizard had been opening every door looking for someone brandishing his wand menacingly. The door had swung open and hit Gellert, propelling him forward into some decorative stones. I heard his leg cracking when it broke against the rocks.

A pack of Lutins fell on the wizard, disarmed him and took it through one of the doors. Two Lutines approached Gellert who let them carry him to one of the divans and explained to them that he would be fine to carry on playing as soon as he could cast a mending spell on his leg.

Then the Lutines had said something in a rapid barrage of French that Gellert didn't seem to follow. I covered my hand with my mouth and explained: "They say that you cannot cast a spell to fix your leg. It is against the rules to magically cure any injury you get while playing. So you cannot mend your leg, unless you are willing to forfeit the game."

He protested: "But I wasn't injured during the game. If they had stopped that drunk dimwit in time my leg wouldn't be broken at all!"

The Lutine repeated her speech word by word.

"She says..."

Gellert rose his hand stopping me: "She says just the same that she said before… There is no point in arguing with a Lutine, they have no flexibility when applying rules." He tried to get up and fell back down to the divan, grimacing in pain: "Help me get up, Albus, I'm going to try to play like this."

I approached him but denied: "Nonsense, you cannot play like this. Why don't you forfeit the game?"

He laughed bitterly: "Because I cannot afford to lose the entry fee, Monsieur Dumbledore."

"The way you were spending galleons, Gellert, I'd thought you had unlimited resources"

"The family fortune is extensive, but I have to draw from it discreetly. I am still a minor. I can justify some expenses like dinner, clothes, and such to maintain the life I'm accustomed to. I have a sizable allowance. But any unusually large cash withdrawal is reported to the executor of my parent's state, who is none other than the Old Bat. It took me six months to be able to accumulate enough for attempting this once. I cannot afford to lose another six months, Albus. I have to do this now."

"I've told you not to call your aunt that, it is no nice." The Lutines were watching us with interest, their pointy ears stood up at the mention of the word nice. I decided to drop the subject and address the other one. Inhaling deeply I said: "For the love of Merlin! I cannot believe that I'm going to do this…"

He was looking at me intently: "What can't you believe you are going to do, Albus?"

"When the door to the dilettantes' room opened one of them was saying that now Timothée was going to have to take Phillipe's turn or they would lose, so apparently the rules allow for a stand in."

Gellert frowned: "I think that has to be agreed among the players."

I smiled: "Translate for me to German for the Swabian and I think I can get him to agree. You are not the only one who can be persuasive. Something tells me if he agrees, then the Lutines will agree too."

He sighed: "Are you sure? You did not want to play the game. And it is not the kind of game you can enter lightly, you can get seriously injured, if you are not focused on playing it."

"Of course I'm not sure, but I don't want to be paralyzed by doubt anymore. If I wanted to feel stuck, I would have stayed back home. And I don't want us to lose just because that sot broke your leg. I can do this. I've accurately predicted if the crab was going to squirt flames or not the last three times you two have played. Is not the first time that has happened, I have been getting this leaps of intuition since I was a child and, so far, they have never failed me. Trust me, I got this."

"Very well, what do you want me to say to the Swabian?"

* * *

Ginny got up clapping: "I knew he was going to play! I just knew it!"

Hermione was frowning: "Am I the only one who thinks that wizard swinging doors couldn't have possibly been an accident?"

Ron said: "Aren't you being a tad bit paranoiac, luv?"

Harry nodded: "I have to say I'm with Ron here: How could Grindelwald had known that was going to happen? And he seemed genuinely surprised that a stand in could play."

"I'm just saying that it was all awfully convenient for that to happen when it did. I bet they are all in cahoots, even that Swabian guy. Maybe even the Lutines… It could all have been a set up to get him to play."

Ron chuckled: "Change a tad bit to a whole lot paranoiac… You are no making any sense, luv."

"It just doesn't feel right."

Ginny sat back: "We can discuss that later, keep on reading, this just got really interesting."

Harry laughed: "Oh come on, Hermione, indulge the pregnant lady!"

* * *

"...Trust me, I got this."

"Very well, what do you want me to say to the Swabian?"

"Tell him that he just got the chance of betting his skill against my luck. I think that will interest him."

The Swabian had asked why he would bet against a lucky charm; he said it looking at me as if we weren't speaking through a translator.

I smiled looking directly at him too and said: "Isn't that what gamblers do? You bet against someone's luck all the time. Why don't we lose the intermediary? Play me."

The Swabian chuckled and agreed to play against me under two conditions: that the Lutines agreed so he could still claim the prize, if he won, and that I would toast with him.

I bit my lip. Gellert frowned: "What's the problem, Albus? You said you thought the Lutines would agree."

I sighed: "I think they will. Let's get that out of the way first." We told the elves about the agreement and, after confirming with the Swabian, they acquiesced.

Gellert smiled brightly: "That takes care of that."

I denied: "Not quite, I'm not sure I can do it."

"Don't tell me you are getting cold feet, aren't Gryffindors supposed to be fearless and honorable?"

"Those are just rumors, I've witnessed plenty of cowardice and underhandedness in the common dorm. Boys will be boys... But I'm not talking about the game… I don't know if I can toast with absinthe. I've heard so much about that drink...Would it be possible to order something else?"

Geller muttered: "I don't think so, he has already poured you a glass. Albus, this wizard looks dangerous, so far he seems quite taken by you, but I don't think it wise to cross him. I've had absinthe plenty of times and all people say is hubris. Believe me, there are far more dangerous, addictive substances that you can purchase for a few coins at the chemist's: like morphine. Just drink and play."

I nodded: "OK, but tell him that I have a sweet tooth and he should add at least two sugar lumps to it."

The Swabian put two sugars on a slotted spoon and poured icy water over them. Then he handed me the glass. I drank a big gulp and had to stifle the need to vomit. I hadn't tasted anything that awful since the last time I had decided to give _Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans_ another go and had got one that had tasted precisely like vomit.

While the Swabian took his turn, Gellert poured me a glass of water stifling a laugh.

"That's disgusting! I don't understand how people can drink this!"

Outright laughing Gellert pointed out: "People drink absinthe for its effects, Albus, not for the taste."

"It is effective. My ears are still ringing, I'll give you that. I guess the silver lining is that there is no way in hell that I can get addicted to this mulch."

"Bless Merlin for silver linings. There's one more thing that we must discuss before you play, Monsieur Dumbledore."

"What would that be, Monsieur Grindelwald?"

He looked at me and using _Legilimens_, sent me a mental message: "I think we should discuss this in private."

I was a bit weary of letting him in, but I did, if only so far. We had a mental conversation.

"I know Arithmancy is not a mandatory subject at Hogwarts, but have you taken some courses?"

I smiled: "I've taken all the courses available. I thought Arithmancy was not taught at Durmstrang."

"It is offered as an optional subject only on a very basic level. But _Nagymama_ didn't trust any school enough to leave my education entirely to them. She taught me Arithmancy and Ancient Runes herself. She was good at both subjects and she was my favorite teacher, her lessons were rigorous but a pleasure too. I don't know how good your teachers were; but let me ask you this: How good are you at calculating probabilities?"

"I can do it in a fairly basic way, Muggle mathematics are not really a big part of the syllabus."

"Can you calculate the odds of getting heads five times in a row?"

I frowned: "That's quite simple, assuming a fair coin in which each trial is independent and in which for each toss you have a 50 percent chance of getting heads, then the probability of getting any number of heads in a row is 1/2 elevated to the nth power, n being the number of trials, in this case 1/2 elevated to the fifth power which is 1/32 or a little over a 3 percent chance."

"That's a fairly small probability after just five trials. Add another five heads in a row and the probability is 1/1024 or less than 0.01 percent."

"As much as I love Arithmancy and as interesting as this disquisition is, what is the point that you are trying to make, Gellert?

"My point should be readily apparent, if you have really found the fire crab's tell. Winning too obstreperously will not be a smart move. I'm not sure about where the Swabian was schooled, but he seems like a clever chap. And you cannot possibly be a successful gambler without at least an intuitive understanding of probabilities. What do you think will happen if you play this dangerous man and keep getting heads, Albus?"

"Oh, I see your point. I need to get tails once in a while or he will get suspicious we are cheating."

"Yes. And that is quite unfortunate, because I really don't want you to get hurt, my friend. So here is my advice to you, don't try casting anything fancy. Have you gotten your Apparation license?"

"I got it just before going on my Grand T..." I cut myself short. My botched Grand Tour was not something I wanted to discuss with him, I don't think I could have handled his pity. Instead I said: "Yes, I got it on the first trial. Even got a mention for outstanding performance."

"We'll keep that spell in reserve, I'm not quite sure how the traces for illegal apparating will work on you, while time-traveling, spells involving age can be tricky. I wish you were wearing your own anti age-trace charm like I do. We'll make sure you are wearing one the next time."

"I could charm one now."

"I don't know how the Lutins will react to you casting it now. And we don't want _L'Argent et Bleu Chevaliers_ Aurors on our trail. For now stick to the standard Protego, don't be a braggart, and give yourself enough time to react."

I cocked an eyebrow: "That's not what you were doing. You said it was good form to wait until the last possible minute to cast the spell."

He smiled: "Yes, but I'm a petulant arse. I was trying to impress you. Don't be like me, play it safe, Albus, get that carapace and let's get out of here."

"I might not get the carapace, you said most games end without a winner."

"I trust you, if you say you got this, I know you do."

"Then you are surer than I am. I think I got this, but I won't be sure until I actually try it."

"Well, I think you are going to have to try. The Lutines and the Swabian look restless, I think the time for planning is over, it is time to act."

"Alright, lets do this."


	5. The Unreasonable Proposal

Chapter 5: The Unreasonable Proposal

"_The reasonable man adapts himself to the world: the unreasonable one persists in trying to adapt the world to himself. Therefore all progress depends on the unreasonable man." George Bernard Shaw in Maxims for Revolutionists. (1903)_

_AN: I've been told that the first two chapters were too long and that makes the fic less "readable". OK, I dunno if I want to write with considerations for length. Especially 'cause I enjoy my slow boiling convoluted plots and 'cause the usual fare 'round these parts seems to be one-shot slash or downright PWP... Mind you, I can read and even -in the right mind frame- enjoy those, but I don't think I care for writing them. In any case, I did ask for advise and I guess I do want this to be more "readable"… Even though the flow of the chess game is totally changed by the split. Bet chess game transubstantiation into storytelling is not that readable either… So be it… Also, I could have used another more obvious Montesquieu quote on the spirit of the law and I was planning to use the one on gratitude later on, but… what the… it kinda fits too. _

_If you happen to care about chess, I was kinda thinking of the game between Adolf Anderssen and Emil Schallopp in Berlin in 1864. Whites win with a King's Gambit against a rather textbook Falkbeer Counter Gambit by sacrificing two pawns and a Queen to check mate with a double Bishop wham bam. OK, Blacks made some epic mistakes in that game… But I wanted Whites to win. At this point I don't see Gellert and Albus as Kings yet, still the power of two crafty Bishops on the open road is a force to be reckoned. We all know how that ends, but I'm kinda rooting for the guys. Sue me. There is this lovely Youtube channel in which nickname MatoJelic explains this marvelously sneaky game move by move. _

_I began writing this with the Duel (yeah with uppercase) in mind and it sorta develops around the Imagine Dragon song I Bet My Life. That is how I see this love story… as a duel. Opening with a Gambit is a declaration of principles. It means you are not afraid to make sacrifices if you win in the end. And this fic is all about the game. Yeah, "the game is afoot." Be prepared for a lot of bold offensives, even if they seem reckless or downright stupid. When I was a teenager personalized t-shirts became a thing, one of mine was black, with a white downward pointing arrow, a white rightward pointing arrow and the word stupid written with a mock Superman S. I used to wear it when I played. I considered that t-shirt, my green bangs and nose ring psychological warfare. When you look like that people tend to underestimate you. I liked to think that looking the underdog gave me an edge. So be warned that's how I play my chess. And, sometimes… I win. Won't say what my ranking was back then, though, you are not courteous if you even think of asking that to a lady._

* * *

It was my turn to poke the fire crab's posterior. Yes, I needed the fire crab to explode in order to test my hypothesis. I was going to get the fire crab to explode and prove I could know which one was the tail.

Gellert was right, the ritual of the sounding of the horn, the bowing, the spinning of the crab and the walking around the table worked like mesmerism. I walked around the table one lap after another in a dream-like state. A lucid dream in which all my senses were engaged; so the world seemed painted in bold coloured brushstrokes like a picture by this unknown artist, Paul Gaugin, whom I'd met in a party hosted by a wizard patron of the Muggle arts. Seguéi Ivánovich Shchukin was visiting Paris in 1897 too. Madame Perenelle had used him to show me that the enlightened Parisian wizards were more tolerant of those who had a passion for Muggle arts and sciences. Even when Muggles didn't appreciate those arts, as was the case of Gaugin. Of course that tolerance for Muggles didn't extend to the point of not oblivating the man before sending him back to the French Polynesia after the party.

* * *

"There is a note: The non-magical world didn't come to appreciate Gauguin until after his death in 1903. And Shchukin was more than tolerant, he was veritably obsessed with all modern art, by 1917 -when his collection was seized by the Leninist in Russia- he owned 258 paintings by Matisse, Monet, Cézanne, Van Gogh, Gauguin and Picasso among others. That rendered him a very notorious collector among Muggles; though I must admit that the French Magic Ministry was tolerant of this near transgression of the International Statute of Secrecy when they received him as a refugee. His collection serve as the founding of the Hermitage Museum." Hermione muttered as if she were talking to herself: "I guess that means some wizarding communities are more tolerant of Muggles.

Ron replied: "I don't think so, not really, luv. If you chat with Fleur on that one, you'll find that they are tolerant of some aspects of Muggle life and as weary of Muggles as any wizard is. In fact, knowing what happened to Dumbledore's sister, I'm truly surprised he was so keen on Muggle stuff. He even liked their candies. Those sherbet lemons he ate are not typical wizarding treats. I hadn't tried them ever, not until I went to his office right after what happened with Voldemorts' diary. He had wanted to talk to me and Ginny about it. Though I didn't care all that much for the fizzy sour sweet flavor… But my point is that if anyone had a cause to be weary of Muggles, it was him, but he wasn't. He shopped in their candy stores. And even enchanted Muggle items, like my Deluminator; which I guess makes it very much illegal. Dad says Muggles actually use it to light things up… He calls it a Light-up."

Hermione corrected him: "It's called a lighter, my love." And then she tilted her head pensively and continued reading.

* * *

I'd loved Gaugin's exotic paintings of the Marquesas Islands. At the time I still had hoped to see the place firsthand. But that was before Godric's Hollow had become my personal hellhole. Now I found myself circling round a bejeweled denizen hailed from a neighboring, equally exotic, Melanesian Island, slowly and cruelly killing it in a gamble for its carapace. My stomach lurched. I poked the crab realizing it was going to explode with plenty of time to cast _Protego. _

I also realizedwhat it was that I had noticed before each explosion. There was no premonition involved; just a leap of intuition, for my mind is sometimes quicker than my consciousness. Each time, before the explosion, I had smelled the biting odor of nitrogen dioxide, which results of the exothermic combustion of another powerful odorless chemical called ammonium saltpeter, present in some creatures' manure. There was also the tinniest bit of brown reddish gas, if you knew where to look. The animal was probably exhausted too; after a fair number of explosions the combustion was less than perfect, so it was possible to find tiny flakes of greyish-white residue in the scute (plates or scales overlaid with horn) of the Fire Crab's carapace. The residue had allowed me to identify the beast's behind and had confirmed my suspicion that there was a surefire way to win in this game.

I am a fairly good alchemist and, since nitrogen dioxide can be lethally toxic, when you take N.E.W.T. level Alchemy, you are taught to recognize it at the very first whiff, your life may depend on it. It would also be wise not to teach Potions in a dungeon, but that is tradition for you. As it is, my nose is good at picking up scents. That is why I had been able to perceive and identify the compound at all before the exploding material had erupted out of the fire crab. I've also suffered from far-sightedness since I'm a child, I can see objects that are far away relatively better than objects that are near. That is how I had been able to see the ammonium saltpeter residue on the beast's carapace sitting on the divan.

I had then proved my hypothesis, but before I did, I had sneaked a pick inside the shell. That is how I was able to deduce that the crab was essentially trying to defend itself by shooting out its own lighted up manure and urine. Like a lot of reptiles and birds, the beast only had one posterior orifice called a cloaca to discharge all its waste. Like no other beast, magical or not, the beast had a pouch where a part of said discharge was saved and fermented by diminutive living organisms -as those described by Pasteur- for the purpose of its defense. The tip of its cloaca had an appendage that was flint like, so it was easy, by rubbing it against the right kind of surface, like the beast's own shell, for it to produce a spark that lighted up the reserve of enriched manure. Add a generous amount of oxygen when it came in contact with air and, _voil__à_, the exothermic reaction was completed and you had Fire Crab fire on a platter. It was kind of disgusting, even if the platter was sterling silver. But it made me feel better to know what was happening. Knowing how things work always does.

Knowing exactly what was happening also gave me confidence that I had really found out a way of beating the house. I didn't even consider it cheating, as it all depended on skill, a rather particular set of skills that I happened to have, but skills nevertheless. I could identify the tail by the residue and have fair warning of the explosion by the smell of nitrogen dioxide. The fact that I needed to flip some tails, in order to keep the Swabian from finding out we were playing at an advantage, was actually going to work in my favor; for that would ensure there was residue on the carapace to aid me divine which end was tails and which one was heads. I had this, I really did.

At least I had more confidence than I had before testing my hypothesis. The green color of the flames probably came from the fire crab's diet, which accounted for the emeralds and the expensiveness of keeping them as pets. Nothing, not even magic, can produce something out of nothing. The fire crab was a fine example of that, as Gellert had explained you needed at least some kind of beryl to produce the valuable green kind of beryl known as emerald. So these beasts weren't really kept for profit as any kind of beryl is expensive and the gain from getting emeralds would be marginal. I wondered what the Lutins were getting out of the deal, aside from watching greedy wizards squirm, that is.

The little elves were probably having a laugh watching the hoity-toity humans bathing in fiery poop for the price of a few jewels and the thrill of gambling. Like a lot of elves, the Lutins, by their association with Father Christmas, got far much better Muggle press than they rightfully deserved.

* * *

Ron was looking green himself: "Bloody Hell! You know what this means, don't you?"

Harry frowned: "No mate, I don't. What are you talking about?"

He looked quite ill: "I can't… I can't, mate… I'm 'bout to barf."

Ron really looked like he was going to vomit, so Hermione summoned a bucket handed it to her husband and explained: "Hagrid bred the Blast-Ended Skrewts from Fire Crabs and Manticores, so it is safe to assume their defense mechanisms pretty much worked the same way."

Harry was looking green too: "Does that mean that we spent one whole school year wading in…? Blimey! Pass me bucket, mate."

Ginny chuckled: "I'm so glad those weren't around when I had my fourth year lessons."

Ron looked accusingly at Hermione: "Did you know this, luv?"

Hermione nodded.

Ron scowled: "Why didn't yo tell us?"

She shrugged filling a glass of water for her husband and another one for her friend with her wand: "I kind of figured it out, but I didn't think anything would be gained by telling you two. Those lessons were awful enough as it is. I assumed the… err… waste was innocuous; save for the exploding part. Ammonium nitrate is really dangerous, if I had known about it, I would have worried. But the explosions in the baby Skrewts weren't as bad. We all know Hagrid has the best intentions at heart."

"Best intentions my wand… Hagrid must be really happy I cannot lay my hands on him right now."

Hermione took Ron's hand in hers: "Let it go, my love, it is water under the bridge."

"Not quite water," muttered Ginny still chuckling under her breath.

Hermione shot her an admonitory look that Minerva McGonagall would have been proud of and carried on reading.

* * *

I had insisted that the Lutines explained me the rules of engagement before I played. I had felt completely helpless and a bit disoriented watching the game, I wasn't going to risk my head with something as dangerous as ammonium saltpeter without knowing exactly how the game was supposed to be played and won. Deep down I'm very competitive, if I play, I play to win.

So I had learnt that if neither of us had been burnt by the time the Fire Crab died, the winner would be the one who had accumulated the greater number of misfires, which meant heads. Perhaps the Earl Grindelwald was not mistaken to call me rarefied, I have a peculiar mind, one that can capture facts, images and tidbits of information with uncanny perfection. I remembered the game play by play. Counting the times each had gotten heads, I concluded that Gellert was slightly ahead of the Swabian by two heads. So aside from not eliciting the Lutines and the Swabian suspicions, I also had to try to get as many heads as possible.

I'm fairly good at Arithmancy. Back then my knowledge of Muggle mathematics was limited, but like Gellert's _Nagymama,_ I hadn't trusted Hogwarts to be solely responsible for my education. I had, on my own, perused some Muggle books and was familiar with Binomial Distribution problems. I calculated a comfortable probability for tossing 10 heads in the next 20 trials which is very lucky (around 18% chance) but not uncannily so. I was a lucky charm, after all. I also had to take into account I needed to avoid the perception of too many heads lumped together, so I would get my ten heads out of twenty, keeping to the following apparently random pattern THHT, HHTT, THTH, HTTH, THHT.

I was setting things so that I would get enough heads at the beginning of the pattern to guarantee that, if the crab died earlier, I'd still win. The game had been going on for a while, so I hoped I wouldn't need to provision for more turns than that. If the luck favored the Swabian, I could adjust the pattern to maintain my advantage.

Armed with my knowledge and my game plan I was ready to win… theoretically. Even with my hypothesis supported by evidence, implementation of a theory as a practical application requires fine tuning. Take Ladislaus Bortkiewicz 1898 implementation of the Poisson distribution to investigate the problem of Prussian soldiers killed accidentally by horse kicks. It had taken some adjustments.

Unfortunately, I didn't have time for fine tuning. I hadn't counted on one small detail: The Fire Crab was dying and no living thing relinquishes life easily. I was on my fifth turn and on my third head when the beast's own head poked out… It was crying, granted, tortoise tears are not the same as human tears, but the suffering was very much real and it was evident that the beast was in horrible pain, yet fighting for its life to its very last breath. That stopped me cold.

"Albus, are you alright?" Gellert had asked from the divan, my new friend was not a trusting soul, he had refused to cure his broken leg, in case he needed to play in my stead.

I didn't reply immediately, so Gellert made as if he were going to stand, but his leg was swollen and hurting, he could only sit back clutching the sit with his hands to ride the pain. I was caught between the suffering of the crab and my friend's pain. I felt dragged by horses in opposite directions.

He repeated the question with more urgency: "Albus, are you alright?"

I realized I had been holding my breath. I breathed out, inhaled deeply and nodded: "Yes, I am."

But I wasn't, I was besides myself. And I lost track of the pattern. While trying to regain my bearings, I foolishly got four heads in a row.

Gellert was indeed a gifted Legilimens, for of usual I'm an accomplished Occlumens, as most people with skeletons in their closets learn to be. The fraction one sixteenth appeared clearly in my mind, while he said out loud: "Monsieur Dumbledore, you need to get a hold of yourself."

It took me a couple of seconds to realize he was talking about the odds of getting four heads in a row. Damn it! I immediately got a tail, but I might have cast _Protego_ too quickly. I managed to make both the Swabian and the Lutins suspicious. He asked for the crab to be inspected.

While the beast was being inspected Gellert and I had a half whispered half mental images conversation.

He clutched at his wand, not taking his eyes away from the Lutines and the Swabian and asked me with a mental pictured: "Are they going to find anything, Albus?"

I whispered back: "There is nothing on the beast aside from what nature decreed." Then I explained what I had been doing using a detailed mental diagram. He let me in, but only so far. I wasn't opening myself up either. I formed each word on the surface of my mind and telegraphed: "We won't get caught unless they have a Legilimens good enough to beat me in Occlumancy, which I don't think they do; or they would have used it, instead of having to physically inspect the crab"

He whistled between teeth: "_Király vagy!_ You, sir, are a regular _Sherlock Holmes_."

I denied: "No I'm not. I'm disgustingly yellow. One lousy tear and I lose my mettle."

He chuckled softly: "I'm not going to send you an owl carrying feathers any time soon. Never for being compassionate, my friend. And _Holmes _was not much of a fighter. He had his lead soldier to do his dirty job for him. You don't happen to have a doctor veteran of the Anglo- Afghan wars who can fix my leg and get us out of here at gun point hidden in that pouch of yours, do you?"

I don't know how he managed, but he made me smile: "According to his latest postcard, the only _Dr_. _Watson_ I've ever had is sojourning in Turkey, not Afghanistan, ten years from now. And he wouldn't have been able to get us out of anywhere at gun point. He is not a soldier, but a scholar. He is the looking amazed while I make my deductions kind of _Watson_. Don't you have the resources of a Napoleon of crime at your disposal? An army of London's worse criminals would serve us right now."

He clicked his tongue: "No, I left my underworld army back at Durmstrang. Such a pity, we cannot expect assistance. I guess then _Moriarty_ and _Holmes_ will have to get out of this using their brains."

"Weren't _Professor Moriarty_ and _Sherlock Holmes_ supposed to be mortal enemies?" I gave him a clear picture of Sidney Paget's 1893 illustration of the Reichenbach Falls.

"I don't know? I've always figured out those two were only on opposite sides of the fence out of pure chance and, perhaps, narrative convenience. True friendship is only possible among equals and those two were more evenly matched than _Watson_ and _Holmes_ ever were. Circumstance conspired to put them in conflict, whilst inclination would have drawn them together."

"The idea of friendship only being possible among equals sounds rather lonely. And affinity among opposites is well documented. But let us discuss it some other time. Right now, as you said, we have to figure a way out. One that preferably does not involve having to fight our way out of _Café des Lutines_ against an army of Lutins and dangerous mercenaries like the Swabian there."

"I completely agree. Let me try to find out exactly what we are up against first. Be at the ready to disapparate at a moment's notice. If we have to, we'll meet by the Eiffel Tower and try to lose any pursuers in the crowd. And then we'll apparate in the woods where we hid the Lohner-Porsche. You've got both locations firmly in your mind?"

"I do, but what about _L'Argent et Bleu Chevaliers_ Aurors?"

He smiled despondently: "_Moriarty_ would rather deal with _des flics_ than with the Lutins." Then he cast _Restituo_ on his leg, stood up and went to parley with the Lutines and the Swabian.

As it turns out we didn't have to deal with either. Since the Lutins weren't able to find any definitive proof of tampering, they decided to let us keep on playing with the added precaution of having a Lutin watching over the game, or rather, watching me carefully and having a Lutine inspecting the crab right after each play. The inspection included the Lutine wiping the beast's carapace, so I lost the ability of telling heads from tails.

Gellert broadcast to my mind: "Can you still win without knowing which one is tails?"

I smiled and replied out loud: "I'm very resilient. I've had to be, given my personal circumstances."

I still was going to have fair warning before an explosion. My game plan had to adapt to guarantee I kept the advantage with the number of heads by the time the crab died. My game plan was also going to change in another respect. So far I had been playing this game for Gellert by the Lutins' rules. Now I was going to play it for me, making my own rules within the rules. For the first time in this whole wretched afternoon I felt in control. It all fit perfectly in the symphony of Albus Dumbledore's life. I'd always had to play my cards constraint by the rules and expectations of others, but always with my own objectives in mind. Now I really had this, I finally did.

While the crab was thoroughly inspected and the Swabian took his turn, I walked to the absinthe fountain, grabbed a handful of sugar cubes, placed them in my pocket and hummed a Gaelic tune my mother had taught me when I was a little boy. A bevy of green fairies flocked around me. The Swabian got heads and apparated besides me looking amused at the fairies fluttering about me. I ignored him and walked back to the game table with my retinue of diminutive waiting ladies.

Kendra Dumbledore, nee Eabarcromgaigh or Abercrombie -if you go by the English version of the name- was born to squibs, though she had grown-up immersed in the magic of the Highlands. She wanted to leave a little of her clan name in each one of us. Every child she had with the English wizard descended from the Lochlier Clan that she married was called a name starting with A: Albus, Aberforth, and Ariana. I was my father's, Percival, first born I was carrier of the Dumbledore name, but in Albus, I carried my mum's Albion too.

My mum knew a host of stories about the good folk and had an affinity to them. Doxys and Gnomes never infested our home or garden. The tune I was humming like a bumblebee, she used to summon Fairies, so our Christmas trees always had gorgeous decoration for free. She could even get Pixies to carry her baskets when she came home from the market. That is, when she still left the house. I guess that only added to the neighbors' suspicions that we Dumbledore's delved in the Dark Arts.

I had been weary of using the song for it might affect the Lutins too… But good folk they weren't and the tune had no effect on them whatsoever. That somehow made me feel better about what I intended to do. Lutins took pleasure in playing with fire and watch others burn, a reckoning was due. All within their draconian rules, to make sure we could go home with the carapace. That is a lesson: laws that are applied with disregard to the spirit of justice, can turn around and bite you in the arse. The moment that crab fired once more during my turn, all their little candy cane stripes behinds were going to catch fire.

I must admit, luck has never been on my side. I got another head, the crab peered out moaning weakly and I mentally told it to hang in there. I could do nothing for it but speed its death. And that is what I was going to do as soon as I got tails again. The moan made the fairies nervous, but I kept humming and they stuck with me, which made them less dumb than most wizards think them to be. Just for safe measure, and to avoid suspicions, I took the sugar out of my pockets and let them lick it.

Gellert was looking at me inquiringly but I thought that he was keeping so much from me that it was only fair that I kept some things from him. I just smiled sweetly and let him simmer.

The Swabian got tails and apparated by the absinthe fountain. He looked inquiringly at me too. But I ignored him again and walked to the table softly humming my mother's summoning song.

I smelled the nitrogen dioxide and knew I was going to get tails. While I cast _Protego,_ I did something few wizards can do with a shield spell: I divided it, creating a protective wall not only in front of me and the fairies; but also one in front of Gellert and the Swabian, the Lutins I didn't care about... As for the Fire Crab… I shielded its behind so the explosion didn't have anywhere to go but inwards, right back to the pouch of waste. Which must have being fuller than I had calculated, because the resulting secondary explosion was bigger than I had thought it would be.

In fact, it was so huge that the crab's carcass simply evaporated, while the shell and the plastron were propelled to the ceiling and the floor respectively and the ball of green fire liberated began rapidly consuming the green room. The absinthe fountain caught fire too. I guess the only reason that it didn't cause more damage was that the pond where the waterfall fell was filled with cool water.

The explosive wave had pushed Gellert, the Swabian, the Lutins and me into the mossy walls. I was the one closer to the crab, so I was the one tossed farther. Hitting the wall took away my breath, I couldn't keep humming, but I hold firmly to the shield spell so the fairies couldn't fly away and get hurt.

The Swabian had dissaparated almost as soon as he hit the wall. I didn't like not knowing where he was. But I couldn't do much about it.

Gellert also recuperated fairly quickly from the surprise, he sent me a mental question: "Did you do this on purpose?" I nodded from across the room. He muttered: "You fool." Then he made me undo the shield spell on him, walked decisively among the frantic Lutins, some of whom were on fire, which I thought of as poetical justice, hit the ones who were finishing cleaning the carapace with a stunning spell, picked the shell and walked towards me shouting: "Come, Albus, let's disapparate!"

I had begun humming again and denied with my head. The fairies fluttered nervously about me.

He looked worriedly at the Lutins pouring into the room with buckets of water, trying to put out the fire. He cursed: "_Az istenit!" _He apparated by my side; made me get up and said:_ "_Please tell me this isn't about the stupid fairies, Albus."

I denied again. And then I walked calmly towards the door and let the fairies fly out.

Gellert had followed me: "Not about the fairies he says… Can we go now? Before the Lutins get a hold of the situation."

I smiled brightly at him: "We don't need to, we have won."

"Please, Albus! It is evident you killed the crab on purpose."

"Yes, I made no effort whatsoever to hide it."

"We need to leave now."

"No we don't. I've told you: we've won. There is nothing in the Lutin's rules to prevent me from killing the crab whenever I feel like."

He looked at me frowning: "But that's stupid! That means anyone who is ahead in the head count can win simply by killing the crab."

I giggled: "That's about right, as long as you don't catch fire while you do it you win. And I don't think these elves are very bright or care for fairness, my friend. If they did they would have let you mend your leg and keep on playing. But the rule says to the letter that you cannot fix damage incurred during the game, and they didn't have the flexibility to accommodate to the fact that you didn't get injured playing. Also, I don't think they should have let me play in your stead without it having been previously agreed. The rule says that it has to be agreed upon by the players so when the Swabian agreed they agreed, fair or not fair. I think they, like some people, suffer from a nearsighted interpretation of the letter of the law, regardless of its spirit. You made me realize it when you said there was no point in discussing with a Lutine and she kept repeating the rules like a parrot."

He was still looking suspiciously at me when one of the Lutines, limping and covered in soot, curtsied in front of him and offered him the plastron and the emeralds that had fallen from the carapace in the explosion. Then she, and an escort of heavily armed Lutins in badly burnt clothes, had practically pushed us out the doors, which locked loudly behind our backs.

Out on the street I laughed: "Something tells me we are no longer welcomed in _Le Café des Lutines_."

He laughed boisterously: "Just as well, we have what we came here to get and the service is not what it used to be. I foresee their business closing in the near future." He looked at me appreciatively: "That was magnificent, Albus, you figuring out how the crab and the Lutins worked... I could just hug you!"

That made me blush and look away from him. I noticed someone apparating down the street and coming towards us. It was the Swabian accompanied by an equally dangerous looking wizard. I tensed, took out my wand and said: "Beware, Gellert, we have got company."

He chuckled: "Oh, I was wondering where he'd gone."

Gellert didn't seem at all concerned and the Swabian didn't look angry either. They chatted amicably in German while the other wizard waited at a discreet distance. Gellert handed the Swabian a coin purse. The Swabian had said something pointing at me that made Earl Grindelwald laugh. He had waived his goodbyes to me and then he and the other wizard had disapparated.

* * *

Hermione cried out triumphant: "Hah! I knew it, they were all in cahoots!" and before anyone could say anything else, she carried on reading.

* * *

"The Swabian says you are not _ein_ _glückspilz_ you are a proper _glücksbringer, _a bringer of luck. If not _das persönliche Nornen_, a Fate personified..."

I was trembling in anger when I replied: "I don't give a damn if you are bloody Paganini… I swear this is the very last time I let you play me like a fiddle, Gellert Grindelwald."

And then I apparated back home… Or at least where home is ten years from when I was. Back in 1889 we Dumbledore's still lived in the house atop the hill at Mould-On-The-Wold. The rental we had moved into at Godric's Hollow after the tragedy, I found out, had belonged then to a rather dashing young wizarding couple who had a little boy. The picture perfect wizarding family -a brunet wizard, a blonde witch and the little boy dressed in the cutest sailor outfit looked right out of a postcard- had been teaching the boy how to fly on a training broom when a flustered redhead teenager had apparated in their yard, cursing like a sailor, just to disapparate right away when the idiot realized his mistake.

I apparated right back on the Parisian cobble stone street still cursing: "Bloody Hell!"

Gellert tackled me, pushing me against a wall. I was too shocked to react. He yelled: "_Intra!" _and inside the wall we went.

I began to protest: "Let go of me this inst..."

His body was pressed hard against mine inside the impossibly small space pocket he had created and he hissed an angry whisper right into my ear: "Shut up, Albus."

"I won't be silenced like a child who speaks out of turn, Gellert!"

I had just started fighting him off Muggle style to regain use of my hands in order to cast my way out of the wall, when he had pressed his lips against mine and effectively, quite effectively, silenced me.

* * *

Ron had stood up knocking his chair over and asked: "What on Merlin's name did just happen there?"

Ginny, Hermione and Harry looked at him questioningly.

"Gellert Grindelwald and Albus Dumbledore just snogged… We all heard the same there? They snogged!" Ron said with a look of bewilderment on his face.

Ginny, Hermione and Harry looked at each other and it was Harry who finally spoke: "Ron, mate, you did read Rita Skeeter's unauthorized bio, didn't you? You do know Albus Dumbledore was gay?"

"I stopped reading that bitch Skeeter when she called Hermione... I ain't repeating what she called her. What do you mean Dumbledore was gay? For Merlin's beard, he was a teacher! He was the bloody Headmaster of Hogwarts!"

That's when Hermione had begun angrily tapping her fingers on the table: "Ronald Bilius Weasley, explain to me how being gay precludes you from being a teacher… 'Cause I don't very well understand the logic behind it. What does one thing have to do with the other?"

Ginny and Harry exchanged a worried look over the other two heads.

Ron scratched his red beard and replied hesitant: "Well… I mean, luv… surely you must see how..."

Hermione laughed humorlessly: "I must surely don't, love of my life, so if you were as kind as to explain it to me slowly... That would be just great."

Ron crossed his arms in front of his chest: "Hermione Jean Granger-Weasley, you are putting words in my mouth and that is not fair. You know me better than that. Do you remember, luv, who was the first one to stand up for you when that idiot Malfoy called you the M word?"

She bit her lip and replied: "I thought I knew the man I had married; but, for a moment there, it seemed as if you were implying that being homosexual somehow impairs you from teaching children."

"Well, I wasn't. I think it is clear that I didn't know Albus Dumbledore was gay. My grievances against the man don't come from his sexual orientation, but from the way he behaved. I think it is also clear that the Board of Governors didn't know either or they would have sacked the man, probably backed by all of the pure-blood parents and even half of the other. You saw what happened to Remus Lupin when they found out he was a werewolf. Even though he was treating his condition and posed no danger. Not to mention he was the very best bloody Defense against the Dark Arts teacher we ever had. We would have probably died by the fifth year without those lessons he gave us. Incidentally, did your parents ever found out you were getting lessons from a werewolf, my luv? 'Cause mine did and they supported Lupin."

Hermione sighed: "You are probably right, Dumbledore would have been sacked. And no, I didn't tell my parents about werewolves. They would have probably not been OK with it, at least not until I could explain to them face to face that I was in no danger whatsoever. They wouldn't be happy now to learn I didn't tell them about it back then either. I'm sorry to have assumed you could think that."

Ron denied: "That's OK luv, I can't very well blame you. You've seen my aunts and uncles treading around the subject of Charlie's 'roommate' during the Christmas holidays. They can't bring themselves to call it out, even when those two stay in Charlie's old bedroom, which only has one bed."

Ginny shrugged: "At least mum and dad let Dragos and Charlie stay in his old bedroom, not all parents would..."

"Yes, Ginny, but just as nobody talks about dad tinkering with Muggle stuff, you won't see them telling Aunt Mildred that Dragos is not Charlie's roommate but his… life companion… life partner?" Ron didn't very well know how to end the phrase and turned to his wife for confirmation.

"Life partner is as good a term as any. Though Dragos Leonte and Charlie Weasley should be able to call each other husband in the eyes of the law. It's ridiculous that they can't. They had been together for ages. And they shouldn't have to play pretend to mollify the moldy sensibilities of your aunts and uncles, Ron. Your family couldn't turn a blind eye, if Charlie and Dragos could have a wedding just like we did. That's just one of many, many things that are wrong with current wizarding legislation..."

Before Hermione could get going on one of her tirades, Ron said: "I won't deny it is wrong, but it is what it is in the wizarding world right now and what it has been for a very long time. That is what makes these diaries inflammatory material, you should take that into consideration when deciding what to do with them. The fact that he was sweet for a dark wizard just makes it all worse."

Harry smiled sadly: "I think that ship has already sailed, mate. You might be the only wizard who didn't read _The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore._ She couldn't even wait for him to be cold in his grave before publishing her crap just four weeks after he died."

Ginny: "She probably had a draft of it written beforehand. It is not considered libel if the person is death. I checked it when I started my internship in the Daily Prophet. Rita is always careful of keeping her writing on the top of the publicity wave and in the border of legality."

Ron snorted: "Sneaky dung beetle. But I bet that everything she published was unverified hearsay. I doubt she had real proof of any of her claims. These diaries aren't hearsay; they are a first person account and that is whole different thing, mate. These could really make a dent on Dumbledore's reputation."

Hermione scowled: "That is really fucked up!" No one contradicted her. Still frowning, she sighed deeply and then she continued reading.

* * *

The kiss deepened and his hands ended over my hips, while mine cradled his head and my fingers tangled in his blond hair. We kissed hungrily until we needed to stop to catch our breath. When we did, he placed his index curled under my chin and his thumb extended over my lips. With his ear on the wall he listened and whispered: "I just want to make sure they are gone."

I pushed his hand gently away and looked at him confused: "Who are we talking about?"

"_L'Argent et Bleu Chevaliers_, Albus, they started apparating as soon as you disapparated. I stunned the first two and, before the other two came, you apparated back. I think I did hear two pops, but I hid us inside the wall before being sure of how many there were. I don't think they were able to see where we went. I just want to be sure we are safe now."

I stiffened, putting my hands besides my flanks: "Is that why you kissed me?"

He sported a lopsided grin: "You were having a fit and making a whole lot of noise. I couldn't think of a better way of silencing you quickly. But that is not the only reason why I kissed you. To be perfectly frank, I've been wanting to kiss you for a while now."

I didn't know what to believe anymore. So I decided to go for another angle: "How did you know I wouldn't reap you a new one with my wand if you did? You know about Oscar Wilde's fate, so you know a lot of English gentlemen would not take kindly to your advances."

He chuckled: "I think I have enough experience to know when someone is going to… how you called it? Take kindly to my advances. You don't need to wear a green carnation for me to figure out you like men, Albus. You were practically drooling over the Swabian. I got a bit jealous, I'll admit."

I protested: "I was not drooling over the Swabian!"

He smiled: "My friend, you were flirting. And the man was not indifferent to your flirtation."

I conceded: "Maybe I was… intrigued by the man..." I sighed: "When did you figure it out?"

"I started suspecting it when you remained perfectly indifferent to the tale of the naughty soprano sleeping with half of the troupe. I can bet you all the men listening to that piece of gossip wondered if they could be next to punch Miss Arnoldson's dancing card. My suspicion deepened when after seeing a very erotic Opera, all you wanted was to discuss motherly love. Most young hot-blooded men watching it without female companions went to their mistresses or the brothel right afterwards. There is also your contemptuous tone when discussing Lottie Collins' shapely legs. And, if I had any doubt left, it was dispelled when you asked if the Christmas tree was a Veela… Believe me, Albus, if you were even remotely attracted to women, you would have known without the shadow of a doubt that she was. Passing in front of that open door, I had to dig my nails deep into my palms to stop myself from knocking that old fool unconscious, grabbing the Veela and satisfying my basest inst..."

"That's more than enough confiding, thank you. Is that really how so called 'normal' men think?"

"I don't think I'm the best exponent of so called normalcy, Albus."

"I'll give you that. But you like women, even though you kissed me, Monsieur Grindelwald."

"Monsieur Dumbledore, I've never understood how one can discriminate against one half of humanity as viable partners on principle. For my part, I've liked some men and some women enough to be intimate with them. Some others, I wouldn't be persuaded to touch with a ten feet pole, if my life depended upon it. But their reproductive organs don't rank high in my considerations for refusing or accepting their company. I hold to what I consider a higher standard for choosing my intimate friends."

With a raised eyebrow I asked: "Am I supposed to take that as a compliment?"

"You can take it whichever way you want. I'm not lying when I say I like you. Truth be told, I like you very much. Of usual the people that attract me physically are not the people who attract me intellectually. You keep me on my toes on both respects and I'm not quite sure of how to feel about it. I have the impulse of running away from you as much as I'm drawn towards you."

I laughed: "And that makes two of us. I don't know how to feel about liking so much someone who does not trust me enough to be sincere with me, Gellert. I don't think I can keep this association, friendship or whatever you want to call it, if you don't stop lying to me every step of the way."

He sighed: "Fair enough. I have been toying with the idea of making you a proposal, Albus Dumbledore, all through the weekend. Perhaps it is high time I did."

I looked at him suspicious: "What kind of proposal?"

"Not here and not now. If I'm correct in my assumption that you tried to go home, my friend, you have alerted the authorities of two countries of our presence in a time not our own."

"Sorry, I was very angry. Not that it is an excuse for my lack of restraint, but..."

"There is no need to apologize, Albus. But I think it may be wise to lay low for a while. Why don't I take you back to my home? I will fix us something to eat and then I'll make you my offer and you can ask all the questions you want in regards to it. I promise to answer them truthfully."


	6. The Place Where You Hang Your Hat

Chapter 6: The Place Where You Hang Your Hat

"_Ah! __There is nothing like staying at home for real comfort. Nobody can be more devoted to home than I am." Jane Austen in Emma (1815)_

After making sure the Aurors were not after our trail, Gellert and I checked ourselves out of the suite at _Le Meurice _and apparated with all of our luggage -Fire Crab's carapace and plastron included- in front of the Lohner-Porsche in the Parisian woods. After loading the trunk and making sure we hadn't been followed, we took flight. As usual Gellert turned on the Poulsen wire recorder when we were airborne. This time the music playing was a piece for violin with piano accompaniment. The violinist played with a masterful glissando, expressive rubato and vertiginous pizzicato.

I laughed: "Is that Paganini? My word, you have one of the darker senses of humor of anyone I've ever met, Gellert."

He smiled: "I won't argue you that. But it is not Paganini, though it is close enough: It is Pablo Sarasate playing his _Capricho Vasco_\- Caprice Basque. He is often mentioned as a gifted fiddler, second only to Paganini. I thought that -since we are going to Spain- a Spaniard virtuoso would make a good choice."

"Who said we are going to Spain?"

"I did, when I invited you home."

"I thought we were going to your great aunt's house or to wherever in Transylvania _Nurmengard Vár _happens to be."

He sniggered: "The old family stead hasn't been in the family's actual possession for a couple of centuries. And the Old Bag...shot manor is just the place where I presently hang my hat. As I've already told you, we Seers are considered a precious commodity by wizarding authorities worldwide. Two gifted Seers for the price of one are too good of a prize to let slip between their greedy fingers. That's why _Nagymama_ decided to make her gypsy's family old town the place for our safe house. The fact that the country is the historical seat of one of the most efficient Inquisitions and, hence, a place where only a handful of stubborn secretive wizards remain, made it all the more attractive to us. Whenever we were not traveling or I was not at school, we stayed at Málaga. We have a hidden house in the _barrio_ _de_ _Cañada de los Ingleses_ -The Englishmen Gully neighborhood.- The house is on the southeast slope of the _Gribalfaro_ mount, where the Phoenician first founded the city. The place where the house is located has a beautiful botanical garden filled with exotic species and it has a breathtaking ocean view. It is very picturesque, I'm sure you are going to like it."

He parked the car in front of a steel gate with two sheets pivoting from two columns topped by guarding marble lions. One of the columns had a sign that read Saint George English Cemetery. I couldn't help laughing: "You call a cemetery your home? And I thought my house was grim and forlorn. I stand corrected, you have the darkest sense of humor of anyone that I've ever met in my life!"

"That is _Nagymama's_ sense of humor, my friend, not mine. The choice of the place was hers and it is not casual. This is a Protestant cemetery in a Catholic country, it is always empty. It is easy to keep a low profile here. And in case someone sees you, looking like a foreigner doesn't make you stand out. Finally a cemetery does not encourage social interaction. Now hurry along, let's unload the car and get in. Gambling your life at Fire Crab Roulette is hungry work. I'm positively famished."

"I could have a bite to eat too. I haven't had anything but sugar since breakfast today or whenever."

We unloaded the car after casting an invisibility spell on it and us. When we were done, Gellert put the car inside his space-pocket pouch. I put the luggage inside my own pouch and I was about to go through the gates when the marble lions stood up and roared menacingly at me.

Gellert waved his wand and the lions went still: "Sorry about that. It has been a long while since I've come home with someone other than _Nagymama_. The place, as you can see, is heavily guarded by powerful spells and delusions, follow me closely and you will be perfectly fine."

We went up a steep shadowy path with tree arches; until we reached a patio where stood a Doric Temple in red sandstone, which was also dedicated to Saint George. We went inside the temple to a diaphanous room, inundated with light; where there were several Neogothic and Neoclasicc monumental tombs. In the left side of the room, one of the mausoleums was flanked by three iron cast dolphins chained by their tails. When I approached them they floated circling around me. They blocked my path while they sounded the alarm with loud whistles, clicking trains and high pitched squeaks. Once more Gellert waved his wand and the dolphins went back to their place, quiet and still.

In the midst of the chained dolphins laid several tombs with epitaphs, the one that fixed in my memory was: We part to meet again. In one side of the family mausoleum there was a striated red marble column with the inscription _Vincit Omina Veritas _(truth conquers all) as the main feature. In the other side of the mausoleum stood the winged figure of an angel with a star of five points over his head. The angel was embracing a cross with one hand while pointing with the other hand towards the sky.

The angel fixed a fearsome stare on me and demanded: "Speak the truth, mortal."

That was probably enough to make a Muggle pee his pants, but I was used to statues and paintings demanding passwords to let you into places. I looked at Gellert ignoring the scowling angel: "What's the password?"

He smiled playfully at me: "Can't you guess?"

The angel lifted the cross from the stone which revealed its pointy diamond end. The cross was actually a sword. Brandishing it over my head the angel spoke with a thunderclap voice: "Don't test my patience," He demanded more forcefully: "Speak the truth, mortal!"

I sighed and spoke two words: "Deathly Hallows." The angel nodded with a, well, with an angelic smile, while the stone pedestal on which it stood revealed an iron door that opened before us.

Gellert chuckled: "I'm impressed, you got it on the first try."

I smiled sideways: "Since your guardian pulled a sword at my head, I'd say I got it on the second try. I wonder what would have happened, if I hadn't guessed it."

"I wouldn't have let it harm you, Albus."

"I don't know if I should believe you. For some reason your home doesn't seem welcoming..." I interrupted myself as soon as we went through the door. I'm not sure exactly what I was expecting… No, that is not completely honest, after seeing his apartments in Belgrave Square, dinning in his table at Pagani and staying at his suite in _Le Meurice_, I had expected Earl Grindelwald's home to be grandiose, which it was… What took me by surprise was that besides being grandiose it was also cozy.

I know it seems like a contradiction, but the ample spaces and impeccable decoration of Gellert's home still managed to convey a feeling of the most delightful domesticity. Gold, marble and rich silk tapestries weren't displayed as if in a museum, but carefully disposed where they would be at the best advantage to serve for the comfort of its masters.

Gellert put his hand in his pouch and his pet Augurey flew out of it cackling in what sounded like a reproachful way. He smiled warmly at the bird: "We are home, Kormos. Go stretch your wings and then go perch in the sun room. Karl will feed you some yummy mice in a minute."

I asked unbelieving: "You had an Augurey inside your pouch all along?"

"Kormos goes wherever I go. I like him to be by my side. You said you couldn't afford an expensive pet but, didn't you have a pet going to school? I thought all Hogwarts alums had a pet."

The Augurey had perched on the bow of a bronze statue of Diana the huntress that presided over the right side of an imposing marble staircase. The statue depicted a gorgeous girl naked save for a garland of flowers that covered not one inch of her. Diana tried to shake off the Augurey, making her breasts bounce and her arrows roll around in her quiver, but the bird clutched to the bow unfazed. Her brother Apollo -a handsome boy presiding over the left side of the staircase, who was also fully naked save for a garland of laurel- clutched at his lire and scowled menacingly at the bird.

Gellert chuckled and said: "Go now Kormos, before you feel the ire of the ancient gods. Karl will be with you presently." Kormos finally flew away going up the staircase.

I had watched the exchange bemused before replying to his earlier question: "Pets are allowed but not compulsory. I could barely afford the books and uniform. I couldn't keep a pet. Who is Karl?"

The sound of a house elf suddenly apparating behind me almost made me jump. The old wrinkled elf was wearing a two-headed eagle banner like a Roman toga. He bowed and spoke in a low rumbling voice: "Master Grindelwald is home, Karl is happy to serve him. Command me and I will obey."

Gellert: "Oh it's great to be home! And it is good to see you again, Karl." He affectionately massaged the elf's wrinkled cheeks with his fists saying: "I've missed you!" He took the elf by the shoulders and inspected him: "You haven't been taking good care of yourself. You are all bones and wrinkles. Have you been eating properly, Karl?"

The house elf blushed: "Master Grindelwald shouldn't worry for a lowly elf like Karl. The house is big and I'm not as fast as I used to be… But I am still able of taking good care of it. I would never let you down, never, my master, I swear on the memory of Mistress Yelena." Karl ended proudly.

"_Nagymama_ wouldn't have wanted to see you wasting away. I'm making breakfast for my friend and me. I'll leave a dish out for you too."

The elf tried to protest: "But, Master Grindelwald, you shouldn't both…"

He rose an admonitory finger: "No buts. I don't want to find your breakfast lying on the kitchen's counter. You must eat and keep your strength to better serve me. Is that understood Karl?"

The elf nodded.

Gellert sighed patting the elf's back: "I'd wish I could get you some more hands to help you around the house, Karl, but there is no one I can trust like I trust you." Then he said signaling me: "This is my friend, Albus Dumbledore, while he stays with us you must treat him as if he were me. You will address him as Master Dumbledore. He is allowed to go everywhere in the house and you shall obey any order he gives you as long as it doesn't mean harming yourself." He said smiling at me: "Not that I think you capable of ever asking him something like that, but some of my cousins have been horrible house guests; so, whenever I can, I tell Karl that no wizard or witch has the right to ask him to hurt himself." Then he looked back at the house elf: "Prepare Master Dumbledore the blue bedroom, I think he will enjoy the view to the cove framed by the pines." He smiled big at me: "The smell of the sea and the mountain trees at the break of dawn is invigorating."

I looked at him with eyes wide with surprise: "Are we going to be here at the break of dawn?"

"I brought us two days before we parted to Paris, Monsieur Dumbledore. We are not meeting in our time until tomorrow afternoon. You will return right when we left, in time to meet your family obligations. I don't know about you, but I could really use some time to recuperate from our Parisian adventure. And there truly is nothing like staying at home for real comfort."

I chuckled: "That's from Jane Austen, from her Emma, if I'm not mistaken."

"You are not mistaken. But something tells me that you seldom are." He turned back to instructing the house elf: "Karl, we shall have fresh flowers. The black crystal stone vase with some calla lilies from _Nagymama's_ garden will be fine for the chimney mantle in Albus' room. I will have my usual bouquet of yellow roses in _Opa's_ favorite green Ming vase. Kormos is supposed to be in the sun room, please verify it is not being mischievous elsewhere and feed it some mice. If you found any doxys in the tapestries you can give it those too. Kormos just loves doxys." He turned towards me and explained: "My loving pet always does something mischievous when it feels neglected. _Nagymama_ spoiled it terribly and now it is incorrigible. It is a proper _nebpancsvirág_, so easily offended."

"We are still talking about the bird, aren't we?"

He cocked an eyebrow: "Ah that wicked wit of yours, Albus." He said it without turning around to look at me: "Master Dumbledore will give you our luggage for you to unpack it. We will be at the kitchen while you do. I think it is more like dinner time for us, but when in Rome do as Romans do, so we are going to go by local time and have breakfast. I'm going to make us _huevos high life_. I brought some brioche bread with me from Paris, but I need fresh eggs, _morcillas_, freshly cut thyme and some dried up Ñora peppers. Karl, bring all the ingredients to me before you start unpacking. Also, go down to the wine cellar and bring me a bottle of _Nagymama's_ _Bodega de Guardia_ fortified wine. We'll have the wine and some orange juice for beverage… So bring me some oranges from the orchard too. Bring enough for all three of us, Karl. No, no, don't argue with me, at least while I'm here you are eating properly." He smiled at me: "Being a Seer, _Nagymama_ accurately predicted the phylloxera fly plague in 1878 and she was careful to build a reserve of the finest _caldos Malagueños_. Our wine cellar is a treasure trove of Spanish wines from a time gone by. Did you know Catherine the Great of Russia was so taken by these wines from Málaga that she exempt them from taxes after tasting them just once?"

I had never seen any wizard treating a house elf like he did. It won me over. I smiled back: "I had no idea I was going to be drinking such illustrious beverages. My ignorance in the subject of fine wines is greater than my ignorance in most other topics. But I'm certain that if they were good enough for a Muggle Empress, they'll be good enough for me."

He laughed: "Irony is the lowest form of wit. And false modesty is a type of sin, Monsieur Dumbledore. Your ignorance on the subject of fine wines can be very easily remedied. Stay by my side and I'll be sure to further your education on it."

I chuckled: "Perhaps that is an ignorance I should be wiser choosing to keep."

"Choosing to keep yourself ignorant can never be wise." Then Gellert had turned back to Karl: "You are going to find a Fire Crab shell in my brown leather travel bag, you can put it in my room inside the safe behind daddy's painting of the clipper. There is also a bag of emeralds, those belong to Master Dumbledore, and you can put them in his room."

I protested before thinking it through: "The emeralds are not mine."

"Of course they are, Albus, you won them risking your life."

"I..." was going to keep on protesting when I realized the jewels could probably cover at least two years of rent, as well as my outstanding bills with the butcher, the grocer and half of the merchant's at Godric's Hollow. And even after all that was covered, I might still have enough left to replace my old dinner frock. I shut up, pride was a luxury I couldn't very well afford.

Gellert carried on instructing Karl: "We are going to want to bathe in the ocean after we eat, pack some towels and the bathing suits for us. We'll also need one of the cloth changing cabins and a couple of umbrellas. You must readied clothes for us to change into after we bathe. I'm thinking white linen summer suits, you can fit one of mine for my friend. I'll wear mine with the hot pink cotton shirt and Albus will wear the checkered aquamarine shirt I stopped wearing last summer. I think that will fit him just fine without any alteration. Those outfits will be perfect for a quiet informal summer soiree at home. We'll use marine blue silk cravats with my nautical opal gold tie pins as accessories. I'll use the enameled cufflinks with the anchors and Albus' will use the cufflinks with the Spanish doubloons and emeralds. We'll dress ourselves. After you finish, you can continue with your usual chores. We'll talk about the plans for dinner when we come back from the beach. Albus, please give Karl the luggage."

I gave the luggage to Karl, the house elf dissaparated and apparated almost immediately, carrying a huge basket with a bottle of wine, fresh eggs, a bunch of aromatic herbs, some dried up peppers, oranges and what appeared to be blood sausages. Then he dissaparated once more, presumably to go feed Kormos, freshen up the flowers and unpack our luggage.

Waving his wand Gellert made the basket float after us as he led the way into the kitchen, he walked into a corridor turning left from the imposing marble staircase, passing a drawing room with a grand piano on it. The paintings of a host of stately wizards and witches hanging from the walls watched us smiling and nodding approvingly at us as we walked down the corridor.

Once inside the ample kitchen Earl Grindelwald took off his coat, folded it neatly over the back of a chair, rolled his sleeves up to his elbows and tied his hair in a bun with some leather cord he had wrapped around his wrist; then he had expertly tied the cords of a spotless white apron around his waist. He cast _Accio_ phonograph and a case with an Edison wax cylinder phonograph and a box of cylinders landed on the kitchen counter. He put on one of the cylinders and the phonograph played Chopin's Nocturne in E-flat major Op. 9 No. 2.

He beamed at me as he washed his hands and his wand like a healer does in an ample sink with an old fashioned water pump. As he lathered the eggs he said: "I like to listen to music while I cook. Chopin is my absolute favorite piano composer. This cylinder was recorded by a good friend of mine. I hope you don't mind having music in the kitchen. Jonah Lee Jenkins is a North American wizard, he is one of the famous Jenkins, half of his family work in high ranking post at MACUSA. He is also an amazing pianist. Our common interest in sound recording has made for some very fruitful correspondence."

"I don't mind music at all. I like music pretty much anywhere. My father used to joke that our family name, Dumbledore -which comes from an ancient world for bumblebee- was given to our ancestors because we were humming all the time. And my mum Kendra was an accomplished pianist."

"Aren't all witches accomplished pianist nowadays?"

"They are supposed to be. The only catch is that my mum really was a good pianist."

He laughed while with a deft wave of his wand he set a big cast iron skillet over a lighted up stove: He gave the blood sausages a light fry using their own fat so the skillet could soak in the flavor of the sausages and asked: "Do you play the piano?"

I blushed: "I do, but not as well as my mum did."

He looked up from the stove straight at me: "Is that your false modesty speaking, my friend?"

I looked away: "No, I fear it is just my big mouth giving me the chance to be humbled yet again."

He laughed louder and with another wave of the wand he took out the sausages from the pan and set them apart on a plate. Then he poured a generous quantity of olive oil from a carafe over the hot skillet. He cut slivers of dried up Ñora pepper with his wand and let the slivers mix with the heating olive oil: "I'm sure you will be fine. You can play for us when we come back from the beach, while we wait for Karl to cook dinner. I enjoy cooking, but I have a huge backlog of papers to go over and correspondence to read and reply to."

"That's fine, I have a translation from Middle Goblin in my list of things to do. I put the scroll in my pouch hoping not to take it out during our weekend in Paris. But if you are going through some papers, I can get some work done too."

"I'm afraid that it is unavoidable, even with a time traveling device, at some point, you need to get down and get things done. As _Opa_ Grindelwald liked to say: _Des Teufels liebstes möbelstück ist die lange bank._ It literally means the devil's favorite piece of furniture is the long bench. The non-literal meaning is that the devil loves procrastinators; so I should not procrastinate any longer. Talking about _Opa_ Grindelwald, when you tire of playing the piano or working on your translation, you can go over his library. My grandfather was a bibliophile, I'm sure you'll enjoy his collection of both magical and Muggle books."

Another wave of the wand and some glass cups began hollowing out round portions of the brioche bread.

"I'm sure I will enjoy it." I smiled, then tried to change the subject away from me having to play the piano: "So _huevos high life_ are eggs in a hole. That is one of the few things I actually know how to cook. Do you want me to give you a hand?"

"_Mr_. _Holmes_ strikes again. I really appreciate your offer, but not today, my friend. Today you are a guest in my home for the first time, so all you have to do is sit back and enjoy your meal."

I took off my coat too, sat on a chair and watched him work. He toasted the bread to a golden crisp, cracked the eggs in one swift movement and cooked them until the yolk was just at the right point of tenderness. Just before taking the eggs in a hole out of the skillet, he expertly dosed the aromatic herbs and some salt over them. He had finished frying the blood sausages he'd cut diagonally mixed with sun-dried tomatoes. And then he set the food on three plates as if he were painting a picture. The last he did was squishing the oranges and pouring the juice in tall glasses. He had crushed ice in a metal basin and he put the juice glasses in it to chill. All while he cooked we were listening to Chopin's most famous Nocturne. If anyone had told me only a week before that I could find such pleasure watching somebody cook, I wouldn't have believed it.

I smiled: "You seem really good at this. I have been fumbling around in the kitchen ever since my mum died. I wish I had half the dexterity you have at casting cooking spells."

He chucked: "All it takes is practice. You should have seen me the first time I tried to cook. I had just turned eleven, had just received my wand and I was like a bull let lose in a crystal house. All in all I destroyed five pieces of _Nagymama's _wedding china and only managed to get half cooked food. Karl was bereaved. He even begged his beloved Mistress Yelena not to allow me to set food in the kitchen ever again. But she said it was imperative that I was at least able to feed myself with or without magic. She was determined to teach me to cook and she did. She used the kitchen as a learning experience for a whole lot of other things. Key lessons can be learnt by the selfless act of feeding others, Albus."

He put two eggs and two sausages in a silver chafing dish and stand, set it on the kitchen's counter and, with his wand, light up the spirit lamp and labeled the dish with Karl's name. Then he carried on: "You probably don't know it, but Durmstrang doesn't have a fixed location, though it always moves somewhere near the Northern Sea or some big northern lake, the caravel needs deep waters to anchor."

"That explains why no one seems to be able to locate it even using powerful scrying spells."

"Please Albus, there is no need to be coy, we know you can't locate Hogwarts on the map either. Durmstrang is a rather warring school, and the reason for moving it around is more strategic than protective. But the point I'm trying to make is that it is usually at a location where you cannot afford to lose two months of summer, so classes begin in March and end in December, with a break for Christmas holidays, two months off in January and February and another break in Easter. This is the first free summer I've had in ages. I was born on July 26th, so it took almost eight months after turning eleven before I could go to school. _Nagymama_ didn't want me to be idle, she continued homeschooling me, just adding subjects like basic charms. I learnt my first spells in this kitchen, for _Nagymama_ said that there is nothing in life that cannot be learnt and learnt well in front of a stove. So to teach me the basics of casting charms: memorization, focusing the will, enunciation, wand movements… She made me pick a recipe from one of her cook books, memorize it, prepare it the Muggle way until I did it to perfection and then do it casting _mágeiras__, _until she was satisfied with the results. My first few attempts were a complete disaster. I feared that Karl was going to die of an apoplexy._"_

I already knew the answer but I still asked: "Which recipe did you pick?"

"I picked a recipe from a Muggle Spanish chef called Ángel Muro. I chose his _huevos high life_ because it sounded sumptuous and because the book it was in: _El Practicón Tratado Completo de Cocina_ was the only one in _Nagymama's_ possession with a bright yellow cover, which is my favorite colour. I regretted my choice when I found out the book was solely in Spanish. I tried to get _Nagymama _to let me change the recipe, but she wouldn't. We Grindelwalds do not run from difficulties. So she made me translate the recipe to English and High Goblin and memorize it in all three languages."

I smiled: "You've said it yourself, Yelena Grindelwald was a formidable witch."

He nodded with a warm reminiscing smile: "Yelena Báthory Grindelwald was one in a million, my friend. I miss her daily. Especially when I'm home. I feel her absence more keenly when I'm here."

I caressed his hand as he set one plate with two eggs in a hole and two blood sausages with sundried tomatoes in front of me. He returned the caress and set another plate in front of his seat. He took out two sets of cutlery wrapped in purple and green fabric napkins. He handed me the purple napkin set and took the green set for himself.

He poured two glasses of wine and brought the two glasses of orange juice in the ice basin from the counter to the table. As he wiped the juice glasses with a cloth he said: "And now, my friend, you are going to be the judge of how well I learnt that recipe: _aquí tenéis, huevos high life con morcillas_."

I laughed softly: "Gellert Grindelwald, you are one of a kind too. I don't know how you manage to make breakfast with eggs in a hole and blood sausages eaten in your grandma's kitchen table into a grand occasion."

"Every occasion is especial when you are in the right company. That is why you have to be mindful of who you share your life with. Choose poorly and your life turns bleak, choose wisely and each moment becomes faceted, bright, with all the colours of the rainbow, like you are seeing it through a well cut diamond, my friend."

I sighed: "What if you don't get to choose the company you keep on a daily basis."

"Albus, you always have choice. And a choice I will ask you to make, but not right now. One doesn't talk shop at the table..."

I finished for him: "That would be rude. Merlin forbid that we cheapen this sumptuous breakfast. Let us live in the here and now, focused on savoring these _huevos high life_ of yours. If they turn out to be half as delicious as they smell, then your _Nagymama_ was a genius as a teacher." I tasted the wine: "And a genius as a Seer for preserving this wonderful wine from the flies."

He rose his glass smiling and said: "_Salud_ to that, my friend."

I rose my glass, touched it lightly against his and replied: "Cheers!"

With him every single second was as seen through a faceted diamond. A few days with him and my previously dark sky was filling up with millions of stars. How was I ever going to be able to walk away, if his proposal turned out to be unsavory or demeaning? I swallowed the lump in my throat with another big gulp of wine, fearing that if it came to that, I wasn't going to have the strength of character to do what I should and refuse him.

He didn't let me ponder. After we finished the food, he cleaned the dishes, took off the apron, put on his coat, undid the bun and signaled me to get up, put my coat on and get out of the kitchen as he cried out: "Karl, we are going to the beach now! Don't forget to eat your breakfast!"

Karl popped up in front of us ambling towards the kitchen and grumbled that it was a waste of time. When he passed by his side, Gellert playfully pinched his wrinkled cheek, calling him grumpy and saying Karl should have a glass of wine to sweeten his disposition. The elf couldn't help but smile.

Karl had left the cloth changing cabin, the umbrellas and two duffel bags in the foyer for us, Gellert put them away in his magic pouch and off we went to the beach.

* * *

Hermione gritted her teeth and clutched her hands in fists: "This is disturbing! This is so disturbing!"

Ron frowned: "What do you mean, luv?"

"It is disturbing that the second worst dark wizard in all modern history was one of the few who knew how to treat a house elf like a person. I honestly don't know how to feel about it."

Ginny snorted: "I thought you were talking about the cooking part. That is how mum taught me to cast spells. I was so despondent -being the last to go to Hogwarts- that she let me help her around the Burrow. I didn't realize just how much I had actually learnt from her, not until my first lesson in charms. Most people couldn't tell heads from tails of their wands. They didn't know how to wave, how to enunciate…I could cast most simple spells on the first try. How do you go from cooking with the grandma who loved you to setting the world on fire? He was loved and cared for by people who seem to have had things straight. Merlin's wand! Our grandpa Madoc used to tell me that procrastination was the devil's love child, when he saw me trying to get away with not doing my chores. That is almost the same thing his grandpa told him. Tom Riddle had an awful childhood, devoid of love, full of neglect, but Gellert Grindelwald didn't. He had more opportunities than most wizards do. What went wrong?"

Harry pointed out: "Not all people with awful childhoods turn evil, Gin."

Hermione sighed: "The Gellert Grindelwald in these diaries doesn't sound evil. If he was faking it, he was really, really good at it."

Ron muttered: "Good enough to fool Dumbledore, luv."

No one knew what to reply, so they remained silent. After a while, Hermione got a hold of herself and carried on reading.

* * *

"We are going to the take the car, Apparation Laws are very restrictive here in Spain and particularly in Málaga, this is a city of revolutionaries, and the handful of wizarding families that live in it participated actively in the uprising of General Torrijos in the 18th century and the Canton Malagüeño Revolts during the Republic days in this century. In fact, the beach of St. Andrew -where we are going- has gained recent infamy from an 1888 oil painting by this Muggle Antonio Gisbert Pérez depicting Torrijos and forty eight of his men being executed with a firing squad by the authoritarian government of Fernando VI in a decidedly Goya style. Rumor has it that at least four of those forty eight were wizards or witches disguising as Muggles with Polyjuice Potion."

As we flew over the city I pointed out: "Is it normal for the city to be these quiet in the summer?"

Gellert sighed: "This is a dying city, Albus, it has been for a while. It started in 1878 when the phylloxera plague practically killed off the vineyards. And then the revolts and uprisings brought unwanted attention to the thriving iron industry. The foundries got most of their coal from England by sea, the government -theoretically to protect the coal trade from Asturias- set a fifty percent tax on the English coal. In reality it was a measure to humble the city's bourgeois. Transportation of coal from Asturias was almost as costly as buying the coal with the added tax. The situation was evidently not sustainable and the furnaces were turned off when I was eight back in 1891. From then onwards the City Council has been trying to promote the city as a sea resort with uneven results."

"I don't know why that is, the beaches look lovely from up here."

He smiled: "The beaches look lovely from up close too. They haven't been much successful so far, but they will be. I have had visions of the Paseo de Reading filled with new buildings and a Grand Hotel. It is coming, slowly but surely. One day these beaches will be filled with Muggles and their ridiculous bathing machines. I don't know how to feel about it, a part of me wishes them well, the other mourns."

"What is a bathing machine?"

He laughed meanly: "Is this Muggle contraption consisting of a small cabin with cart wheels pulled by horses or mules that allow prudes to bathe in the sea without risking anybody seeing even their ankles."

I laughed: "Come on, Gellert. A little modesty is to be desired. You don't expect people to bathe nude."

He chuckled: "I usually do outside school. I like to do my sport as they did in classic antiquity."

I looked at him startled: "But you asked Karl to pack bathing suits."

"I did, but mainly to accommodate you, my friend. You don't strike me as the swimming naked type."

I blushed: "I wouldn't want to scandalize the Giant Squid. It is a rather delicate soul."

He looked at me frowning: "I'm sorry, I'm not following you: What Giant Squid?"

I chuckled: "I used to swim in Hogwarts Lake. A Giant Squid calls it home. It is very congenial, it lets the first years tickle its tentacles, though it is not above giving the ones who misbehave a good dunking to teach them a lesson. It is a widow, its husband was killed by whalers who mistook it for a sperm whale. The Giant Squid was saved from sharing in its husband's fate by Dame Antonia Creaseworthy; who was a witch that went on to be knighted for her exploits as a privateer and retired from seafaring to become Hogwarts Headmistress. While she was still a student back in the 17th century, she saved the Giant Squid by apparating during the summer break right in the middle of Hogwarts Lake with her sail boat, the squid and a boat of very confused Muggle whalers that proved fairly hard to oblivate; the bigger the scare the harder it is to wipe it from a person's memory and they were sailors, which made their willingness to relinquish an amazing tale even less likelier. But Hogwarts was hidden even then."

Gellert whistled: "_Hihetetlen!_ She managed to apparate with two boats, several Muggles and a Giant Squid? Aren't there anti-apparating spells in Hogwarts and its grounds?"

I chuckled: "There are after Antonia's stunt. She is also exceptional in another respect, she is the only Headmistress who had a painting of her –depicting the incident- hung from Hogwarts' walls before she even was a Headmistress, of usual those are hung up after they die. The painting is in the girl's prefect bathroom on the fifth floor. I don't know whose bright idea that was, I would be unnerved bathing with all the Muggles gawking at me. Not that the Mermaid in the boy's prefect bathroom is any better."

He laughed: "What were you doing in the girl's prefect bathroom, Albus Dumbledore?"

I smiled: "It is a rite of passage for all new prefect boys to sneak into that bathroom and emerge with the words of wisdom that Dame Antonia's portrait has to impart as proof of having been there."

"And, may I inquire: what were the words of wisdom that you learnt from the portrait of the pirate witch?"

I corrected: "Dame Antonia was a privateer, not a pirate, all her swashbuckling was done under the auspices of the Muggle British crown. And I'll gladly share her wisdom with you. Upon discovering my presence in the girl's prefect bathroom, Dame Antonia uttered these words:_ 'Oh, not this again. Every fifty years or so one of you sneaks in here. Surely there are a thousand better things to do with your time than skulking around girl's bathrooms. One point less for the redhead Gryffindor peeping tom! Now report to the current Headmaster, you have owlery cleaning duty for the next two weeks, boy.'_ I thought she was going to make me walk the plank. She ran a tight ship."

Gellert chuckled: "Can Headmistress' portraits punish students in Hogwarts?"

"I don't know about the other headmistress' portraits, but Dame Antonia certainly could. I spent two weeks cleaning owls' droppings, but gained the respect of the other prefects. Turns out most of them outright lied about having sneaked into the bathroom. I was the first in nearly sixty years to be foolish enough to take on the dare head on. Most of the prefects got away with inventing a catchphrase."

"You are a knight, my friend. Unfortunately for you this world is made for knaves to prosper."

"I hope you are wrong. Anyway, The Black Lake is not necessarily inviting, it also has a colony of Merpeople, who I'm sure wouldn't have appreciated seeing me swimming naked every single morning. That colony is the reason why I chose Mermish as a third language. It was a simple matter of survival. Fighting my way out daily would have been too much exercise. It was better to parley."

"You swam daily in a lake full of Merpeople?"

"Mostly for hygienic reasons. _Orandum est ut sit mens sana in corpore sano… monstro quod ipse tibi possis, dare; semita cert tranquillae per virtutem patet unica vitae. '_You should pray for a healthy mind in a healthy body, what I commend to you, you can give to yourself. For assuredly, the only road to a peaceful life lies through the path of virtue,' as Juvenal said."

"Juvenal satires aside, I'm glad you don't share on most wizards prejudices against physical exercise. And you hate brooms, so I guess the most wizarding of sports: Quidditch, is not really for you."

"What makes you say I hate brooms?"

He raised an inquisitive eyebrow: "Don't you?"

"I hate heights. I think the reason why I leaned more towards Gryffindor was that the Ravenclaw's dorms are up in windy turrets. I wouldn't have been able to sleep a wink with clear windows."

"What happened to asking for a stout heart that lacks the fear of death and can endure the toils of Hercules hardships? That is also in Juvenal's _Satire X_."

"I don't fear death, but I would rather not plunge to it from up high. How did you figure it out?"

He beamed at me: "I deduced it from the terrified look on your face when we were hoisted up the Eiffel Tower, and by the little flinching motion you make every single time we take off in the Lohner-Porsche. Though, I give it to the redhead Gryffindor, not once have you refused to face your fear."

I snorted and tried to change the subject: "Is Quidditch your sport?"

"Do I look like the type who devotes his waking hours to idolizing a bunch of brutes pursuing balls ridding brooms?"

* * *

Ginny, a former Holyhead Harpy, exclaimed: "That right there is irrefutable proof that he was evil!"

Hermione chuckled: "Really? Just because he didn't like Quidditch?"

Ron, a Chudley Cannons hardcore fan, nodded: "It is a sure sign of Evil, with uppercase E."

Hermione stifled a laugh and continued reading.

* * *

"I'll take that as a no. Just so you know, I support Puddlemer United."

He sniggered: "Let me guess, humming Dumbledore likes singing their anthem: _B__eat Back those Bludgers, Boys, and Chuck That Quaffle Here_..."

I smiled: "Who doesn't like a good singalong? My choice was actually made because they are good, and because they used to have a traditional rivalry with the Scottish team my father favored: The Banchory Bangers. My dad's maternal grandfather Wulfric Lochlier used to be their chaser."

"Weren't they disbanded in 1814 for being rowdy drunkards?"

"They were kicked out of the league for trying to catch a Hebridean Black Dragon in one of their post-match parties. But they didn't actually disband, they continued playing unsanctioned and still have a following. It was my father's dream to get them back in the league and be their chaser."

He cocked an eyebrow: "You chose a team with a traditional rivalry to the one your dad loved?"

I sighed: "My dad and I didn't see eye to eye in many subjects."

"Is it too forward of me to ask you why?"

"Perhaps, but it could be argued that I've invited the inquiry. Father was disappointed in me, among other things, for not being an accomplished broom rider. Supposedly I descend from a long line of brilliant chasers, something doubtful given the Banchory Bangers dreadful reputation."

"Was your dad an accomplished broom rider?"

"He was, when he wasn't upholding the other family tradition for… how did you call it? Ah yes, rowdy drunkenness. Let us say that his version of sporting camaraderie was not one I could admire and, since he insisted in me choosing a Quidditch team, I chose Puddlemere United."

"That must not have made him happy."

"I guess not. But I was not a source of much happiness or pride to my father. I was too bookish, too serious. And I inherited my mum's redhead. A sour reminder of the Abercrombie blood that ran through his child's veins. You are probably not aware of it, but the Abercrombies are related to the Camerons and there is a blood feud tracing to the 18th century with the Lochliers. For some reason, even after the Statute of Secrecy, these Muggle feuds carry into the Wizarding World."

"Then why did your mum and dad got married?"

"They met at school, she was a really handsome woman and he got her pregnant. She was the daughter and granddaughter of squibs, but that was enough to force him to marry her. As for mum, she wanted to land a pure-blood husband that could offer her a comfortable station in life and some legitimacy in the eyes of the witches that called her Muggle born, as mum was ever ready to deny. When dad was worse for the fire whiskey, he told whoever would listen that marrying her had been the end of his Quidditch career." I smiled sadly: "So you won't have to suffer grief from me for not liking the sport. I like it though, but more for the spirit of true sporting camaraderie than from anything else."

"I do understand the appeal of sporting camaraderie. What I don't like about Quidditch is that it is used by the Ministries as a sugar tit for adults, ye old_ panem et circenses_ -bread and games- to appease the crowd. We wizards cling to the tit like there is no tomorrow… And a future there won't be unless we are ready to quit infancy. I do sports mostly for hygienic reasons too. I'm a pagan of the good times. But my life of virtue… that one I seek it in other more serious pursues, which relates to my proposal. A proposal I intend to make to you as soon as we are at the beach."

We descended onto the sandy beach, set up the changing cabin, put on the swimsuits, which turned out to be his old school ones. After setting the towels and the umbrellas we sat taking in the morning sun rays and Gellert made his offer. I should have walked away, but who walks when offered the world?


	7. Drawn From The Natural

Chapter 7: Drawn From the Natural

"_Some say that art is unmoral; and some of these arts are very unmoral. I may not have described them here in the correct conventional terms; but then I do not think that art is unmoral. Art, like morality, consists in drawing the line somewhere__." G.K. Chesterton in 'The Illustrated London News' (1928)_

After we had finished casting protective concealment charms to prevent Muggles from approaching the beach or seeing us from a distance, we set up the changing cabin, the umbrellas and the towels and took turns changing. I came out and, even though the beach was deserted and powerful spells guaranteed no one could see us, I felt somewhat uncomfortable in the formfitting sleeveless two piece swimsuit. I was compelled to ask: "Are these really school issued?"

Gellert laughed from inside the cloth changing cabin: "They are school issued, but you have to remember that at Durmstrang there is no one of the fair sex who can be scandalized by these suits, not even a congenial squid widow. These swimsuits were designed for the practical purpose of letting you swim comfortably in them, not for being seen."

"But you said that the school is always somewhere in the far north. Shouldn't you have favored more fabric in your swimming wear? If not for modesty, then for practical considerations of not freezing..."

"If freezing had been a concern, we wouldn't have swam at all. There are magical ways of dealing with the cold, up to a point. Past that point the professors at Durmstrang think that physical hardship builds character. That is why the second most popular extracurricular activity, besides Quidditch, is the duelling club. A wizarding duelling club that is not beneath encouraging Muggle style duelling."

"No, that can't be right. Muggle duelling is encouraged, really?

"All is fair in war, even eye-pocking, biting and scratching. Of course I wasn't allowed to behave unwizardingly… _Nagymama_ would have skinned me alive, or sent me her seconds, if I had dared to do anything to shame the name of Grindelwald."

I smiled teasingly: "And yet, you were the unbeaten duelling champion."

"It was also a matter of survival. You try facing those pure-blood fanatics with what they called girlish length blond hair and a keen interest in Muggle technology. Not to mention I was what most of them considered second class Hungarian nobility; in order to survive I had to show them the little Transylvanian cub had fangs. While you were learning to parley in Mermish, my friend, I was learning the persuasion of violence. And I learnt it so well that I was boatswain for four years in a row. That was another source of resentment for my classmates, as the Caravel's boatswain is typically the chaser of the winner Quidditch team -there are two, blue hawks and red eagles- which I wasn't. That led to more duelling, both in club and out of it. It also established my reputation as someone dangerous to cross."

"That sounds awful."

He came out of the cabin wearing the scant swimsuit and a big smile: "School had its moments.

"Having that reputation also sounds very lonely. Did you have any friends at school, Gellert?"

"Did you have friends at school, Albus? Besides adoring _Watson_, who I count as entourage."

"_Touché._" I said while tugging down the short that was riding uncomfortably up my behind.

Gellert grabbed the waistline and pulled the short down chuckling: "It is supposed to go on your waistline, right there." He touched me with a finger making me shiver.

I blushed: "Then my bellybutton will show when I move. I don't think this is the right size for me."

"I told you these were my old school uniforms, they were the right size for me a couple of years back. You can enlarge your top if you want. Not that I mind looking at your midriff. You have quite a lovely bellybutton. And I hope you don't mind seeing mine. I wouldn't even bother using my top, if I didn't think displaying my naked chest would make you even more uncomfortable than you are right now. I'm curious, are all Hogwarts alumni so weary of the human body?"

I straitened the top and undid and redid the blind hem with my wand to gain a few centimeters in order to cover my lovely bellybutton, which I very much minded him seeing. I couldn't think straight if he did. I cleared my throat: "I wouldn't say weary, but, being coed requires us to follow the rules of civilized coexistence among the sexes, one of which is showing the appropriate modesty."

"Does that perceived exercise of modesty include shunning depictions of nudity?"

"I...Shun…. Nudity...I..." I was chocking on my own tongue: "Why do you ask?"

"Because of the way you avoided looking at the statues of Diana and Apollo in my staircase. Hogwarts is famous for its magical art, but I take it that art exercises modesty too. If you were used to seeing statutes or paintings fully nude, you wouldn't have reacted like you did. You were exquisitely careful not to look Apollo below the waistline and you didn't very well know where to look at Diana. I found it hilarious when you settle to look at her bow and quiver. The standard with naked individuals is the same as with clothed ones, unless you find yourself in very specific circumstances of intimacy, common courtesy advises you to look people in the eye. Statues on the other hand, even magical ones, are not people, but depictions of people made specifically for the purpose of display, Monsieur Dumbledore. So you are allowed to look at them wherever you may want. I also think that you wouldn't be as uncomfortable with how we are dressed right now, just being the two of us, if you were used to see some nudity." He sniggered: "My good man, you can barely say the word."

I blushed even more intensely: "You have to admit that the statues in your staircase are rendered..." I stumbled for the right word:" very realistically." Then I pursued in a dull tone that would have made that old relic Professor Binns proud: "And, if the statues or the paintings at Hogwarts get naked, and I wouldn't doubt it given the less than civilized behavior of some of them, they most certainly don't do it in front of the students! They would be taken down and hidden in a cupboard if they dared. Is Durmstrang full with nude magical art?"

He swore with one of his florid expletives which he claimed were polite as they did not contain actual curse words. Hah! Had to give it to him, he could put all insult in the tone.

"_Az iskoláját!_ Durmstrang is not full with nude magical art, but it does have some."

"Isn't that encouraging immorality?"

"Most art at Durmstrang depicts epic moments in magical history; when the scene depicted justifies it, the characters appear naked. And the only thing that encourages is what I think of as a healthy attitude towards the human body. What do you know? I think I found one instance in which education at Durmstrang is superior to Hogwarts, or at least less puritanical."

* * *

Hermione exclaimed: "Sweet Merlin! Gellert Grindelwald is right again! All the statues and pictures are covered up to their noses in Hogwarts. I hadn't realized it until I read it just now!"

Ron frowned: "What is wrong with that? You don't expect moving portraits to go around naked where children can see them, do you? That would be nasty. Are Muggle portraits all naked?"

"No they aren't all naked. But there is nothing nasty about the ones that are. And now that you mention it, we are going on weekends to the British Museum and the Tate Gallery so you can look at Muggle art and see for yourself it is perfectly alright, even for children. I'll even bet you will enjoy it."

"Why would I want to see naked Muggles?"

Hermione sighed: "Because some of those naked Muggles are master pieces of human art. Human, not wizard or muggle, just human. And because that way when we have a boy and he talks about women who exercise their right to pursue their love life with whomever they may want, he doesn't call them red ladies, as if Victoria was still on the throne; but he is able to discuss the subject from this side of the twenty-first century."

Ron looked hurt: "I was defending you..."

Hermione: "I know, my love, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart. But there are so many issues with that word: red lady that I don't even know where to begin criticizing it. It is not too late to address that backwards attitude. As a first step, we are going to the Mug… seums."

Ron stared fixedly at the horrible lithography of three wilting sunflowers in an awful green glazed vase against a tacky turquoise wall by that Muggle Van Gagg that Hermione had insisted on hanging in the dinning room. Ron had only accepted after learning from Ginny that was the wife's favorite painting. It was one rarely shown and part of the series of paintings the Muggle she called genius had done. She said the series was a pictorial disquisition on the vagaries of time. Ron had requested his mother in law's aid in finding that lithography to give to Hermione as a gift when they had tied the knot. He hadn't expected her to hang it in the dinning room but had thought, better there than in the bedroom. Given her taste in art, Ron could imagine the master pieces were going to be badly drawn stuff he could have drawn better pissed blind with some crayons.

Harry followed his friend's gaze and couldn't help chuckling. Ginny turned to face him with a raised eyebrow: "What are you laughing at? We are going too. I can't believe you lived eleven years with Muggles and haven't gone once. Hermione and I have talked about it and this is as good a time as any."

Harry face-faulted, Ron's lips trembled, but he was smart enough not to laugh. Leave it to the old balls and chains to turn the diaries into an assignment. He smiled inwardly, thinking about how Hermione had just barely caught herself before saying muggle museums. The wife wanted to think she could live in both worlds... Ron knew better but, he was going to let her figure that one out on her own.

* * *

I didn't like being called a prig, albeit implicitly. I asked: "What epic scene in magical history would justify nudity?"

"Something classical, I guess: like the duel between Belinda the Gorgeous and Rudolf the Nasty."

"That's hearsay. Hogwarts also has a duelling club and I've seen very competent witches winning duels with all their clothes on. I honestly think that legend was concocted by Belinda's detractors who couldn't stomach the idea of a witch -a mother of seven to boot- beating a big nasty warlock without resorting to trickery."

"Even for long lived wizards, past a certain point history is a matter of hearsay. I don't know Albus, there may be something to what you say. The wizarding world is by far a fairer place for witches than the muggle world is for women, but there are still some rather unfair expectations of how witches should behave. For example: most Magic Witch Ministers are not married and have no children, as if the burdens of the office impedes them to have a private life too, though most of their wizards counterparts are married and have children. But no only ministers are expected to give up office, if they become mothers. All women employed in the magical governments, banks, newspapers and even some hospitals are expected to give up their jobs and become housewives. Perhaps it has to do with the limited quantity of formal employment available for all of us; or with the fact that at least one magical parent should stay home guaranteeing the safety of magical children. A safety that is hard to guarantee given the limitations imposed by the Statute of Secrecy wilts at the same time, neither the governments nor private instances promote any institutional form of care for the children until after they are eleven. But perhaps, and that is more troublesome, it has to do with a certain view of motherhood and womanhood in which they are the ones supposed to sacrifice themselves for the well-being of the family. It all probably comes from the fact that since the Statute of Secrecy in 1689 there has basically been no change to regulations of wizarding rights for the last two hundred and ten years. And whatever rights we do have come at the expense of cowering away like mice in our burrows. That is just one of the many ways in which the wizarding clock of progress has stopped since that accursed date."

"Does that discourse have to do with your proposal, Gellert?"

"In part it does, but let's deal with one discussion at a time. Just focusing on the merits of the legend, sex can be used as a weapon, Monsieur Dumbledore, and; if depictions of Belinda the Gorgeous are accurate, I cannot blame Rudolf for being distracted by her charms. If you ask me, she looked damn fine for a mother of seven."

"That distraction got Rudolf killed, if you believe the legend. He was cast into oblivion quite dishonorably: while undressing -having misinterpreted Belinda's intentions.- That ended his reign of terror. Not that the Belinda of the legend, gorgeous or not, behaved honorably either, disrobing with deceitful designs."

He shrugged: "In a life and death duel, like they used to be back then, I think that the only important thing is winning. Rudolf had already killed her husband and Belinda had her seven children to think of, she couldn't afford to lose, it was better to lose honor with trickery than to lose her life honorably. In any case, now I'm glad I haven't shown you my sketchbook. I don't think I could stand a harsh judgment, not from you, my friend."

It dawned on me: "Of course, you draw. You did a pretty good sketch of a hand to have me cast _Quietus_ on you and that is why you carry charcoals in your pouch. I read somewhere that hands are some of the hardest things to draw and yours was really good. Why do you assume I would judge your sketchbook harshly?"

He chuckled: "Because, _Mr. Holmes,_ I draw mostly magical portraits and some of them are nudes."

"Oh... I see...Are your portraits drawn from the natural?"

He smiled a lopsided grin: "Some of them are."

"Did you draw them from models in a magical art class? Do you have those in Durmstrang? I think they have them at Beauxbatons."

"Most magical professional painters and photographs are trained at Beauxbatons Academy. But no, Albus, they don't have magical art classes at Durmstrang. I'm self-taught and I draw people I know."

I bit my lip: "You mean people you know like your… intimate friends?"

"Would you let someone other than an intimate friend draw a magical picture of you naked?"

I blinked twice: "I don't know if I'll let anyone draw a magical picture of me naked. It is my understanding that you have to pose for those for a while and you have to interact with them in order for them to behave like you. Interacting with a naked version of myself would be unnerving."

"The level of interaction required depends on the liveliness that you want to achieve. Magical portraits that capture a single moment in time looping for posterity over and over require very little interaction. Those depend entirely on the craftsmanship and powers of the wizard or witch painting them. You wouldn't have to pose necessarily, I have drawn some of my portraits exclusively from memory." He smiled slowly: "I have a rather good memory."

* * *

Ginny exclaimed: "Wow! I don't like where this is going. Are you telling me that there is a naked magical portrait of Dumbledore?"

Harry protested: "Gin, you cannot deduce that from this conversation." Then he turned hesitantly towards Hermione: "Can she?"

Hermione denied forcefully: "No, of course she can't."

Ginny shrugged: "I'm just saying that it is a disturbing thought. Grindelwald knew how to convince people. He even has you agreeing with him, Hermione. Merlin's beard, he has me agreeing with him, at least in regards to unfair expectations for working witches. You should hear what some of my aunts have to say about me not quitting my job just because I'm having a baby. Even mum thinks it best to have at least one parent at home to keep the kids safe. Not to mention the reluctance of my bosses at the Daily Prophet to accept that maternity leave is actually a right. By the way, thank you Hermione, for unearthing that old regulation by the wizarding side of the Convention Parliament. I cannot believe that one of the reasons behind the witch hunts that prompted the Statute of Secrecy was precisely a reaction to the call from witches for more egalitarian civil rights for everyone in the 1689 Bill of Rights. It is also disturbing to think that whatever civil rights we have haven't basically changed since the excision of the Muggle and the Wizarding World. Grindelwald thought those were outdated after 210 years. Imagine how outdated those are after 324 years? I think what you are doing trying to change that is the right thing to do and so very brave, Hermione. I'm sorry if I've ever doubted it, even jokingly. I don't want my children to be stuck with laws that haven't changed since the 17th century. And it took listening to a dark wizard to realize this when I should have been listening to you in the first place."

Hermione blushed bright red and hid partially behind her curly mane.

Ginny sighed: "Leaving that aside, I'll just say that after reading what Grindelwald had to say, I agree with a lot of it. Now I understand what the history books and even our grandparents said: he was an infamous orator who could sway an audience of thousands with a few words when he became a full on dark wizard. Dumbledore had his undivided attention, so I'm just saying this: there may very well be a naked portrait of Albus Dumbledore somewhere in the world drawn by Gellert Grindelwald, doing Merlin knows what in an eternal loop..."

Ron shuddered: "Hold your horses right there Ginevra Weasley! That is a disturbing thought. It's like walking on mum and dad kind of disturbing. If there is a naked portrait, we should burn it with all the rest of these papers." Hermione looked him with a raised eyebrow and he continued: "But let's not draw hasty conclusions. Just keep reading, luv."

* * *

I frowned: "You must know someone quite well to make a magical portrait of them from memory, naked or not. You are very young. How have you managed to make such… err… close acquaintances in a handful of winter holidays out of school?"

"Hmm, clever _Mr. Holmes_… We haven't really discussed it because you are a smart man and I had assumed that you would eventually figure it out on your own. But, in the spirit of full disclosure, there are a few things you should know in regards to time-traveling: After a few experiences you easily realize that you grow old at your normal rate while you are doing it. When you reintegrate into your timeline your legal age remains unchanged but your chronological age is different. And, if your time-traveling charm doesn't include some adjustments, the years expanded between the one you have traveled to and your own time do catch up with you so your biological age upon arrival becomes a concern. Even then, the adjustment only works so far. That is why traveling too far back is dangerous as upon returning the aging can cause you to turn into dust. I haven't found a way of traveling safely farther back than fifty years."

"You seem to know a lot about the subject."

"The truth of the matter is that I have been time-traveling for quite a while now. It has been about two and a half years, which would make me your senior by about half a year."

"But your legal age as you call it makes you still a minor which is why the underage-trace picks you up."

"Correct. Those same experiments in the limits of time-traveling have shown me that age related charms and spells get confused in the presence of a time traveler. That is why you don't appear to be old enough for a licensed apparator when you go back. Hence the need to use my pendant. In fact, the pendant is more than an age-concealment-charm, it conceals the signature of my magical energy liberation. I want to be completely honest with you Albus, you are fully aware that what I'm doing is dangerous and illegal, and I wouldn't do it at all save for my conviction that it is the only thing to do to prevent an awful future from happening. In order not to alert the authorities all over the timeline as to my activities, I've taken some precautions to have, in parallel to my travels, a greater disturbance in the timeline to have the Aurors of several countries and times preoccupied with it."

"What do you mean with a far greater time disturbance?"

"I haven't screwed up time, if that is what you are asking, Monsieur Dumbledore. Have a little faith in me. Or look around, the world remains relatively unchanged by my voyages. My disturbance is just a red herring that allows me to travel within fifty years of now in order to procure materials and information that are pivotal to the achievement of my goal without alerting the authorities. I cannot do what I need to do from jail or worse. Given what I intend to do, authorities may very well decide to kill me on sight."

"And what will that real goal of yours be that can get you jailed or killed?"

"My goal is overthrowing the Statute of Secrecy."

"Nonsenses! That would require you to seize control of all Magical governments worldwide!"

"That is exactly what I intend to do."

I laughed: "Gellert, are you seriously telling that your intention is to take over the world like a villain from a penny dreadful?"

"I am seriously telling you that after thinking it over in every possible way the only solution I've found to securing the means needed in order to avoid a war that will destroy us all, is to take over all governments both Magical and Muggle and institute a temporary dictatorship in which the world will be ruled by a Magical Council. A collegiate meritocracy in which selected wizards and witches drive us into a golden age of peace and progress, instead of driving us into oblivion."

"A Magical Council selected by who? Perhaps you should go back to Vienna and consult with that Muggle neurologist Freud you mentioned earlier, because you are quite insane, Gellert Grindelwald."

"I'm not crazy, Albus."

"Well, you don't sound sane at all, my friend."

He laughed meanly: "When the measure of sanity is a wizarding society that faced with their first real threat chose to cower in a hole terrified of facing their attacker, who is ten times weaker, then I take being perceived as insane as a _bona fide_ compliment."

"I didn't mean it as a compliment, Gellert. Surely you understand that the Statute of Secrecy is the only thing that stands between us and extermination."

"The Statute of Secrecy offers protection only to Muggles. For wizards it is nothing but fetters that don't allow us to move freely."

"I agree the Statute of Secrecy is not the best solution, but it is not as if we had another option, Monsieur Grindelwald."

"But, Monsieur Dumbledore, that is the point exactly we do have options… I'm guessing you've always been a city boy, but let's see if you can follow my train of thought. Have you seen a confrontation between two animals?"

"What are you getting at Gellert?"

"Bear with me, Albus, this is important. Have you seen a confrontation between two animals of the same kind?"

"Mould-On-The-Wold and Godric's Hollow are not what I would call cities, my friend. They have wooded areas. And Care of Magical Creatures is a mandatory subject at Hogwarts. Finally I spent two summers working in a Dragon Reserve in Romania, so, yes, I've seen creatures fighting."

He smiled: "I wouldn't call them fights, not in the human sense. You see, my friend, animals, unlike humans, are equipped with all they need to be natural born killers and, yet, in confrontations between similar animals you will seldom see fights to death."

"You tell that to deers and wolves."

"Please, Albus! Deers and wolves are preys and predators they are not even, and their fights are for life and death because one is the food of the other. But think about two wolves, two dragons, two kneazles or any other type of creature with similar prowess that come into conflict for food, the desire to reproduce or territory. You'll notice that their confrontations of usual include some form of display of force that leaves the dominance of one of them crystal clear so the underdog walks away relinquishing the price before a fight to death ensues."

"So far, we agree. But, other than giving me a lesson on animal behavior: what would your point be?"

He smiled meanly: "My point is that back in 1689 the Muggles and Wizards came into conflict, the Muggles made a threat display and, based only on their numeric superiority, made us retreat as the underdogs."

"Good, so you do see the reasons why secrecy is necessary."

He laughed: "On the contrary, Albus. What I've never understood is why on the name of reason would a wolf walk away from a deer."

I smiled: "Deers have horns."

"Yes, and they may take out a solitary wolf, but a well trained pack can take down a whole herd."

"So what you are saying is that Muggles are our prey? How is that different from purity of blood discourses?"

"No, Monsieur Dumbledore, that is not what I'm saying. If you remember I started the conversation talking about beasts of similar prowess. Right now the Muggle and Wizarding world are evenly matched. But that is not going to be the case for long." He took my hand and offered once more the image in his mind of the great explosion that had ended his first prophecy: "Can you speculate, Albus what in nature can possibly cause an explosion like that one?"

I denied: "I… No, other than a volcano... that kind of energy release seems like the result of a botched Dark Arts experiment. Muggles don't have the means of doing that."

"So far, Muggles don't have the means to manipulate energy, but in the next forty or fifty years they will learn to harness energy in a way that will allow them to use that as a weapon."

"That is the result of a Muggle weapon?"

"Yes, that is the result of a man-made weapon, Albus. One that Muggles will build and use in a war that is coming."

"But that sort of energy release, according to Alber Magnus laws of energy would necessarily imply that they have split the unbreakable. Attempting that is forbidden! Forget forbidden it is plain stupid!"

* * *

"There is a note in pen: Back then the non-magical world hadn't developed the model of the atom, and for wizards even a name was forbidden. But Muggles would develop the model, a couple of years later. And a few years after that they would do just exactly what Gellert said they would." Hermione gulped: "There are some moving magical pictures of Hiroshima and Nagasaki… If you want to look at them. But I wouldn't recommend it, I wish I hadn't..." No one else wanted to look at the pictures.

* * *

He sniggered: "For wizards and anyone with half a brain it would be unthinkable, but not for Muggles, not for the cocky newcomers in the ways of energy manipulation who feel themselves the entitled masters of the world."

"Merlin be merciful!"

"The time for mercy is over, my friend. This is the time to act. It was not casual I took you to the World Fair in 1889. We could have gone anywhen before 1891 to get the carapace; but I wanted you to see the fair, Albus. Do you know they are having another one next year? Why do you think that is?"

I couldn't speak, I was still grappling with the idea that in only fifty years Muggles would be able to split the unbreakable.

"They can do another World Fair of technological advancement just as big and impressive as the one we've just been to in only ten years because the advancements of their science have been so rapid as to allow them to do so. You saw it with your own eyes, moving pictures, lighting up their streets, recording sound, figuring out how disease is breed. Even things that magic cannot do like flying."

"We cannot fly ourselves but we have flying machines, you have one in your pouch."

He laughed mirthlessly: "So do they."

I huffed: "All they have are air balloons and gliders, nothing powered."

"They are getting there, my friend. They are using science to methodically figuring out how wings work, how magnets and steam and other means can be used to power their gliders and soon enough controlled, sustained flight will be possible for them. And, meanwhile, let us analyze what has happened in the Wizarding World in the last two hundred years since we started cowering in our holes. What are the great advancements in magic that we have achieved as a people? Just look at the text books we study in our schools, they haven't changed in two hundred years! We have laws, text books and a mentality that has been stuck in the 17th century."

"Nonsense, I'm sure that there is something being developed by the Department of Mysteries..."

"Are you? I wouldn't bet on it. And even if it is, it is all lumped under the label of forbidden knowledge, being studied by a few monomaniacs who won't share their findings with anyone unless said research is deemed safe for the general public; in which case it will serve no other purpose than keeping the infant wizard society happily unmoved inside its baby blanket of false safety."

"That is untrue, Gellert: Magical research is published every month in periodicals everywhere and its shared and criticized upon its merits."

He sneered: "Oh, I've read your latest acclaimed article, my friend."

I looked at him cautiously: "You have?"

"Yes, and I almost wept at the thought that one of the most obviously gifted minds of this age, the top of his class at Hogwarts, the transmutation champion of the convention of magical schools, devotes his time to figuring out twelve uses for dragon blood, one of which is polishing silver… _Az istenit, _Albus_!_ Polishing silver? Is that the width and breadth of what our society has to offer to posterity?"

I had been so proud of my article… so proud, and now, I felt ashamed of it: "And what is the alternative, Gellert, to wage war on the Muggles? Wizards and witches would die by the thousands before we are able to seize control of the world, who is going to be willing to follow you?"

He smiled: "I'm glad you ask. That is where the Deathly Hallows come into play. If I have them and I can convince wizards and witches that I am master of Death, they will all follow me."

It was my turn to laugh meanly: "The Deathly Hallows are a child's story."

He smiled: "No they aren't. During the course of my two years of time travels I've already narrowed it down to two possible owners in possession of one of them: the invisibility cloak. Can you believe they are not even aware of having that treasure in their attics? And that carapace you won will give me good intelligence as to the whereabouts of another: the resurrection stone. That would only leave the unbeatable wand to be located and once I know where all three are, I can wait for the right time to come into possession of them and make my move."

"You mean your move against all the magical governments?"

"Not against them, Albus, within them. I'm planning for the long run. I'm already in communication with several correspondents in families close to power in all key Wizarding Countries, when the time is right, seizing the power won't be hard and once I manage that the fall of the Muggle world will follow swift."

"So you don't write to the witch descendant of Emperors in Mahoutokoro or the guy in Ilvermorny whose family works for MACUSA just because you share common interests, do you?"

"We share common interests, Albus, those interests just go beyond Zen Buddhism and sound recording. They are the seedlings of my Magical Council. They will become what the Wizengamot should be. Eventually we will include Muggles and other magical creatures. Wizards are not the only ones who got the short stick with the Statute of Secrecy, my friend. What do you think about Karl?"

"You mean Karl your house elf?"

"Don't you think it unfair that wizards take advantage of the house elves nature? We have profited from their want to be useful to make our lives easier. Take Woolahan using them as pin cushions. Why not give them a chance at fulfillment without exploitation? Why not, for example, let them work in Muggle hospitals? You would only need a couple of elves to turn around those cesspools of disease."

"Most elves would love to, as long as they don't feel they betray their masters, but managing it..."

"It is doable, Albus. What about centaurs, giants or vampires?"

"Vampires like your ominous valet?"

"Vladislav only drinks blood from voluntary donors since he started working for Opa."

"You got to be joking! Does anyone actually volunteer?"

He chuckled: "You'd be surprised what some Muggle girls and boys and even some witches and wizards are willing to do for Vladislav. Vampire bites have an effect similar to opium."

"That is more than I needed to know. Have do you know about the effects of vampire bites or opium?"

"Don't ask the question, unless you want to know the answer, Albus."

I snorted: "Fair enough, Gellert, I won't ask about that. But I need to ask: Is war the only choice?"

"As far as I can see it is. And we are not only fighting for ourselves, we are fighting for all magical creatures, we are even fighting for the Muggles considered inferior for reasons of race, gender or religion. We are fighting for a more equal, enlightened and fair society for everyone. That is a future worth dying for. On a personal level, I don't need the Deathly Hallows not to walk away from that moral responsibility, though it would be easy to."

"Would it really be that easy to walk away from that hideous war you've shown me?"

"I have a time-traveling machine, Albus Dumbledore. Do you know how many lives I could live between now and fifty years? I could live comfortably, if I wanted to. I have the resources to do that and let the world turn around until it blows up."

"But you won't"

"Not I won't. I've picked my side in the battle to come, everything in my upbringing and my personal believes demands that I act honorably. I won't turn a blind eye, I won't run away. That is also what I'm asking of you, my friend: to pick your side in this battle. And I really hope you choose mine." He ended with an inviting smile.

"This is too much to take in. I cannot give you an answer right away."

"I won't ask you for an immediate answer. This is a big responsibility. Think it over the days we will be here. Just know that if you join me in my quest, you will need to commit to it. You will also put yourself outside the law. This time I took you only ten years back as an incidental tourist and you acted a bit like me the first time I cooked, like a bull let lose in a crystal store. We are trying to save the world, not destroy it. I need you to be mindful of your actions and use an age-charm like mine. I would also need you to start a journal. That is the only way to keep track of when and where we've been in order not to affect your life and that of others. I don't undertake any of my time voyages lightly, I usually only go out of dear necessity and after checking carefully for discreet signs of my presence that help my conviction that I have already been there without altering the timeline. For example, I know that I am going back to Paris in 1889 because in the articles related to the World Fair they mention off seasonal storms and this time around we went in the summer and I did not cast a storm."

I sighed: "Of course, you wouldn't have gone to Paris just for sightseeing. It was foolish of me to think it. I should have thought that you were only going with an agenda in mind...I don't know if I need a journal, though, I have a rather good memory too."

"I don't doubt that, Albus, but a journal is mandatory, I would ask you to start yours from the moment that you met me and be thorough. I will also ask you to share it with me, I'll share mine with yours. Two heads are better than one at checking we aren't messing up the past while trying to save the future."

"Very well, this is your proposal then and, if I accept it, I will agree to keep journals that are open both ends in order to guarantee we don't mess with time."

* * *

Hermione said: "There is a note: _You realize of course, Elphias, what Gellert experiment with the limits of time-traveling and the bigger time disturbance to cover our activities was, don't you? His lab rat had been infamous Eloise Mintumble who he had seduced into getting trapped in 1402 by convincing her of some silly love story. I was so stupid that I didn't realize it, not even when I found out who Gellert Grindelwald really was. No, I didn't even suspect it until several years later when I became a full-fledged member of the Wizengamot and got access to some locked files. But I cannot fairly use that secrecy as excuse for not asking just exactly what he had done to test his hypothesis on time-traveling. I never asked, probably because I didn't really want to know the answer to the questions that kept popping in my mind. _Merlin's wand! Of course, what happened to Eloise Mintumble happened in 1899 the same year they were time traveling. She was the red herring! That bastard Grindelwald!"

Harry nodded: "We already knew that. When I talked to him about Gellert Grindelwald he basically said he had gotten hooked because his ideas didn't sound wrong. Lord Voldemort looked the villain, this guy didn't and to me that makes him even more dangerous."

* * *

"I'm not saying I am going to join you. I would only accept to under an equal partnership and on the condition of full disclosure. If you don't take your time-traveling lightly, I have to believe that we are not here at your house just because you think your home is the most comfortable place to rest. Before moving onward, I need to know what we are really doing here and now, Gellert."

"I told you, Albus, the carapace can buy us intelligence on the whereabouts of the Resurrection Stone. We are buying a scrying pendulum from the leader of the wizarding underworld in Málaga: _El gato."_

"Oh, dear Merlin, I am in a penny dreadful! The criminal overlord of the wizarding underworld here is known as the cat?"

He smiled: "Felicia Illescas Correa is a criminal overlady. _El gato_ is her _nom de guerre._"

"I don't know that much Spanish, but isn't _El gato_ a masculine noun?

"It is, and the word conjures images of sleekness and of always landing on your feet, whilst calling herself _La gata _would conjure images of running around in the rooftop like a libidinous..."

"Enough, Gellert, I get the picture. That doesn't seem fair."

"It isn't. And what is also not fair is that one of the most brilliant witches you will ever meet, Albus, had to turn to a life of crime just because her half-giantess heritage didn't allow her to have other better opportunities. I don't mean to push you, but that is exactly the kind of unfair stupidity you would be aiming to change, if you were to join me."

I smiled: "Well, as long as you don't mean to push. _Vale, veremos al tal gato._"


	8. Leap Of Faith

Chapter 8 Leap Of Faith

"_Reputation is an idle and most false imposition, oft got without merit and lost without deserving. You have lost no reputation at all unless you repute yourself such a loser.__" William Shakespeare in Act 2 Scene 3 of Othello (1603)._

"Gellert Grindelwald, I said I would only accept to join your crusade as an equal partner and on the condition of full disclosure, this is not an equal partnership! What you are asking of me is… I'm at a loss for an adequate adjective. I can't believe you are already taking such liberties and I haven't even formally accepted your proposal yet!"

"On the contrary, Albus Dumbledore, I'm giving you a taste of what an equal partnership in this quest really means because, for the first time since I began it, I'm willing to have an equal partner, which entails that you are to share both in the risks and in the rewards. And this is full disclosure. I'm being completely upfront about it, at least with you. We need to disguise ourselves. It would be too dangerous to go to this witch's lair without hiding our identities. Furthermore, we can use the disguise to our advantage in aiding us to keep the woman unbalanced. Last time I was here she almost had someone beheaded because they dared sneeze in her presence. She is dreadfully horrified of disease after her giant mother died from a Billywig sting."

"How can someone die from a Billywig's sting? They just cause giddiness and levitation."

"That is all they do to wizards, but for giants in some cases the sting can induce a deadly hemorrhaging fever. After watching her mother waste away when she was a child, the woman cannot tolerate sick people. And when I first inquired about the scrying pendulum in _El gato's _possession, her brute of a brother -who works as her enforcer- told me she had already sold it to a wealthy wizard for the price of a fire crab carapace. Their great-grandmother is an infamous poisoner and her 100th birthday is in a few days; _El gato_ wants to gift her with a powerful cauldron. For a price they told me the description of the wizard who bought the pendulum and his bodyguard. The description of the wealthy wizard matches to a T that of the bellboy who carried our luggage in Paris and the bodyguard's description matches the Swabian you played Fire Crab Roulette with. The fact that we managed to win the carapace in this trip, has aided my conviction that our best chance of emerging from the half-giantess lair unharmed and with the pendant is disguising ourselves as them using Polyjuice Potion. I always keep some half brewed in case I need it."

"It is surprising how many of the tools used by conspirators, thieves and spies are also used by revolutionaries."

"Please, Albus, we've been through this: revolutionaries are outlaws by definition… Never in the history of mankind has an 180 degrees change occurred from within the system, least of all pushed forward by a meek flock of lawful citizens. The right to change the world is a conquest, you have to earn it by the wand, my friend."

* * *

Hermione moaned and muttered: "I hope he is wrong. Oh Merlin! I do hope he is wrong."

Her friends looked worriedly at her.

But it was Ginny who grabbed her by the shoulders, made her look at her and said: "Hermione Granger, take it from someone who knows it, the best trick of a dark wizard is to take half a truth, coat it in sugar and make you swallow it with a whole lot of bollocks. I wish I had known it when I was younger. And I wish I had known my confident was a dark wizard who only cared for his own agenda. You know who this guy was. Don't let him take anything away from you." Her voice broke, Harry approached her and took her hand. Ginevra Weasley held her head high and ended with a steady voice: "Least of all your belief that love and good can win without violence."

Hermione nodded biting her lip. Harry and Ron embraced their wives, the episode in the Chamber of Secrets, much of which hadn't been discussed, hung heavily on them. Sometimes words don't suffice, but a hug can help. In this case it did. Feeling much better Hermione continued reading.

* * *

"You are right, we've already discussed it, and what you have to say sounds very reasonable, including your plan… Or at least it did, right until we reached the part in which you said that I had to pass myself as a bloody syphilitic!"

"It's not you who will pass for a syphilitic, Albus, but the bellboy. You must admit that the best condition to explain the unfortunate boy's bold patches, lanky built and full body rash is syphilis." He chuckled: "_El gato_ won't want to approach you closer than a mile."

"I'm glad you find this amusing. I don't. The fact the bellboy can easily pass for a syphilitic is what worries me the most. Leaving aside the strategic advantages you have already pointed out: Why on Merlin's wide world would I want to dress in his diseased looking skin?"

"Monsieur Dumbledore, I didn't think you were so vain. Polyjuice Potion affects only your looks, you cannot catch a disease by looks alone."

"Some people claim Polyjuice Potion captures a person's true nature. It can alter sight defects. And some traits not present at birth like scars and missing limbs are passed to you, albeit temporarily by the potion. Are you completely certain that syphilis is not transmissible by it? I don't think I've ever read a comprehensive study on the effects of Polyjuice Potion and disease."

"Those are very fair questions, my friend. And that is one of many topics which are not being currently studied by wizards, we seem to be remarkably set on maintaining our ignorance. I haven't got the results of a systematic study, Albus, but I have my personal experience. I've once passed myself as a Muggle leper and, when I reverted back the leprosy was gone. You are only exposing your palate to the bellboy's nature or diseases, if he has them. That can be easily taken care of with a glass of something to wash the aftertaste. You would have had to let the bellboy do something more than carry your luggage to catch that particular disease from him. Don't they teach you that in Hogwarts?"

"Excuse me for not wanting to expose my palate to the bellboy's taste. And I am fully aware as to what it takes to contract venereal ailments. Do they really teach you things like that in Durmstrang as part of the curricula? If they do, besides a reputation of tolerance towards the Dark Arts, your former school should be known for its liberalism."

He chuckled mirthfully: "Of course they don't teach such things as part of the curricula, but you learn all sorts of interesting facts from other boys in the dorms and in the hallways. Is Hogwarts such a bastion of decency that such practices are unknown there?"

"In Hogwarts there is as much extra-curricular learning as in any other wizarding school… And I'm not being vain. What I don't understand is why do I have to be the bellboy?" I admit that I whined like a little boy who doesn't want to play the villain.

He sighed and replied like the big brother who has to explain to the little boy that they all have to be the villain in turns: "Because whoever is the Swabian has to do the talking. Being aware of the bigger picture, I'm in a better position to negotiate with _El gato_ and her brother than you are. I'm sure you'll catch up quickly, but for now, I should be the Swabian because I am the best suited to be."

"That's another thing. Did you really stole hair from those two just because you remembered that two guys who looked like them had bought the pendulum? That's awfully Machiavellian, even for you."

He shrugged: "I am a revolutionary I do what I have to do, Albus. The bellboy's hair was very easy to get, I just pretended that it got caught on my bracelet while he delivered our trunks to our suite. The Swabian was a bit more of a challenge.

I frowned: "What did you have to do to get the Swabian's hair, Gellert?"

"Do you really want to know, my friend? Let me warn you it might offend your sensibilities."

"If you want me to join you, I need to know what I'm getting into. So yes, I do want to know."

"Suit yourself: I had to wait until he was fast asleep to steal it."

I repeated slowly: "What do you mean you waited until he was fast asleep to steal his hair!? Surely you did not... did you? Oh sweet Merlin!"

"I've already told you, all is fair in war. When you are trying to avoid the Apocalypse, you cannot afford to lose. At times you need to make compromises. Remember Belinda the Gorgeous?"

I felt as if hit by _Petrificus Totalus_: "I thought you had bribed the Swabian with money!"

"I did give him money, but, in order to get him to accept the bribe, I had to get close to him. And I needed to do so in a place where the Lutins wouldn't be privy to our meeting. The only place where the man was alone was in his attic. And the only ones that ever entered the place, besides himself, were his lovers. I also needed his hair and the place was guarded by some really mean curses; so the easiest way to enter it was… I'll let you finish figuring out the conclusion given those premises, my friend. As I said, sometimes you need to make compromises. In this particular case, the Swabian was more of an added benefit."

I should have been warned of the lengths he was willing to go to achieve what he wanted. But that which we refuse to acknowledge, is knowledge we cannot profit from. Instead of being wizened up, I was appalled: "Merlin's beard, Gellert, have you no shame!"

"What shame is there in two people of sound mind and body spending a few pleasurable hours? I don't know why you find this so objectionable, you were the one flirting fiercely with the man, Albus. Not to mention you passing judgment on me feels like an unwarranted intrusion in my private affairs."

I felt hurt. Merlin knows why, but I did: "Alright, your private business are no business of mine… But let me tell you right away, Gellert Grindewald, that I don't share your commitment to the cause. There are some compromises that I'm just not willing to do. One of them is that I won't Belinda the Gorgeous anyone, not even if my refusal brings about the end of the world as we know it."

He chuckled heartily: "My friend, the whole point of this is to change the world we know into the world we want. And no one is asking you to Belinda the Gorgeous anybody... I won't force you to do anything you are uncomfortable with. Anything you do for the cause you will do voluntarily, Monsieur Dumbledore. In fact, if playing the bellboy is so vexing to you, you can sit this one out. I'll figure out a way of getting someone who can play the part… Though it is an unfortunate loss of time."

I sighed: "Let's say for a moment that I agree to pass myself as the syphilitic rich boy. What would that entail, Gellert? Kindly don't spare me the specifics."

"I'll do all the talking. You just need to sit there looking filthy rich, depraved and sick, my friend."

"Wearing the bellboy's looks looking depraved and sick will be the easy part. I'm guessing your wardrobe will take care of the filthy rich part." I growled: "Finish brewing the accursed Polyjuice Potion and let's be done with it. A fair warning, Monsieur Grindelwald, I'm using my personal version of _Thief's Downfall_ as soon as it is safe to do so. I won't wear that boy's looks one second longer than necessary. Also, bring something real nice from that marvelous wine cellar of yours to swallow the potion down with. I won't bet on it being anything even approaching edible."

He smiled: "I'll have Karl bring you the finest of our cellar… So _Mr. Holmes_ has his own version of _Thief's Downfall_… That is interesting. How did that come to happen?"

I smiled sideways: "If you must know, it is my updated version that they use in Gringotts nowadays. I came up with it because not all of the dueling I've engaged in has been honorable. Being the transmutation and alchemy champion of the convention of magical schools comes at a cost. Two very strong competitors from a school -I won't mention by name- that has a reputation as the best when it comes to teaching self-transfiguration and alchemy, as well as high expectations of its alums performance in those subjects, felt cheated for landing second and third place and decided to give me a humbling lesson under the cover of pretense of being from your Durmstrang."

"My friend, we are often cast as villains. And you don't have to mention the school by name, with only a handful it is not hard to divine you are talking about: Uagadou."

"In any case, I dueled with them, persuaded them that the price was well awarded. And, as they ran from the scene of the attack, I made them come clean about their wrongdoings by dousing them in my very own waterfall of revelation. A Gringotts security official was in attendance of the convention and was intrigued by the fact that my waterfall could even reveal a wizard using self-transfiguration… In fact it can even lift the effects of some courses… So I don't only devote my time to polishing silver with dragon's blood, my friend."

"Touche! I never wanted to imply that is the only thing you devote your time to. I was criticizing a system that binds you in trivial pursues, throwing little bones at you for menial tasks when it should be fully financing you to have ample time to address more important issues."

I sighed deeply: "Long story short, in exchange for the spell, I have a lifetime exception from handling fees for my Gringotts vault, which comes handy. And the wizarding bank got improved security which comes handy too. I would have donated the spell to all wizarding banks, if I could afford it. I would have consider it a public service. But since no one is actually financing me..."

"You are such a good boy, Monsieur Dumbledore!."

That didn't sound like a compliment at all. I should have hold my peace, but I couldn't: "Good boys don't get syphilis, Gellert Grindelwald. Remember that before taking another tour in the rooftops."

He laughed: "Good boys don't get anywhere!" Then he smiled knowingly: "The Swabian was quite the _tour de force_. You have fine tastes, even if you don't pursue them to conclusion. Pity, a good run in the rooftops is an experience everyone should have at least once in a lifetime. And it is also quite evident to me your views on the matter come from a wealth of inexperience, Albus Dumbledore."

I blushed to the point of popping a vein: "I'll have you know that innocence is considered a virtue."

"I'll have you know that virtue when untested is called ignorance. Real virtue is about balancing consequence and gain, it is about strength of character and making compromises to further the greater good. And good cannot exist without a measure of compassion and leniency towards failure to be utterly good. If good lacks compassion, it ends up being more harmful than outright malignancy."

I looked at him with narrowed eyes: "You have an answer for everything, don't you?"

He chuckled: "And that's why I get to be the Swabian."

"Oh shut up!" And he did, if only to go brew the Polyjuice Potion.

All through my life I've had a rather unfortunate association with _Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, _but let me tell you that no bean I've ever tasted -whenever I've been bold or stupid enough to try them- can even begin to compare to the disgusting taste that unfortunate bellboy had. The potion looked like water freshly taken from the Thames and it tasted correspondingly. The Swabian looked tasty enough, like a strong tea sweetened with wild honey. Of course, I refrained from mentioning it, Gellert Grindelwald didn't need to be given ammunition, not by me.

* * *

"There is a note: _The best Potions master I know, Severus Snape, says that there is nothing in the ingredients or brewing process that could explain a relationship between a person's nature's and the qualities of the Polyjuice Potion. And, though he admits that different persons influence the taste and looks of the brew differently, he is hesitant to adhere to hypothesis of the nature of the person being captured by it. For Professor Snape that is unsupported superstition, akin to Muggles once thinking pictures capture a person's soul. From a purely methodological point of view, I have to applaud Professor Snape's rigor, as correlation does not demonstrate causation … From an ethical point of view, anything that can induce easy judgment as to something as complex as a person's character makes me weary. Hard as it is to do, we should never take upon judging our fellow human beings on little evidence. People are too complex to be judged lightly; even when we judge them upon their actions, we have to tread carefully and it is always better to err on the side of compassion. For we need to remember that when we pass judgment, we are also being measured by it. How could we possibly judge someone upon the color of a brew? I've been Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot for a long time and that is exactly the kind of evidence I would never admit in our courts for any purpose. Merlin be merciful! I tremble at the thought of what possible uses a claim like that could have in the wrong hands." _Hermione sighed: "I never saw it quite that way, but he is right. Imagine someone trying to justify Merlin knows what just because your potion doesn't look right in their opinion..."

Ron scoffed: "Luv, Crabbe and Goyle were buggers and Albert Runcorn and Bellatrix Lestrange were proper shits...so, if the Polyjuice Potion fits…"

Hermione had to stifle a laugh, cleared her throat and carried on reading: _"And the fact the potion is often used with less than honorable intent means that so far no one has taken upon the systematic study that is called for the resolution of this conundrum. If a systematic study about the so called nature of a person is even possible. The first hurdle would be finding a definition of a person's nature that can be objectively tested. But, that damn curiosity of mine, I do wonder… For example, I find it incredibly interesting to find out if there are bias induced by the brewer. Are their prejudices on the subject into which they intend to transform having any effect on the potion's look and taste? So one of the first experimental designs would have to be a blind study pairing portraits and hair. Since there are differentiated steps, could a bias be present during different parts of the process. You know me, Elphias, I can go on and on when it comes to experimental designs. Especially with a potion as complex as this… But as I write this, my time is very limited; so I better leave it at that. Let's just say, in my experience with its usage; there seems to be some empirical support to those claims that merits further study. In any case, I've never been a lucky person: the bellboy tasted just like one would expect sewer water to._"

Ginny said: "You three have used Polyjuice Potion. How does Harry's potion look like?" She smiled wickedly: "I have a fair idea of how the potion might taste."

Ron, Hermione and Harry exchanged a look. Ron looked away. Hermione and Harry blushed. Ginny looked at then inquiringly. Harry denied and said: "Better drop it, Gin."

Before Ginny could say anything else Hermione hastily carried on reading.

* * *

We were wearing our disguises when he looked at me sideways. I sighed putting away my glasses, which I didn't need anymore. Though, in all honesty, I had no interest in having a good look at myself. As it was, I was having a hard time not scratching the boy's rash. I didn't feel itchiness on my skin, but my mind begged to disagree. To prevent myself from scratching until I raised welts, I interlocked my hands as if in prayer and said: "I know I look awful, but it is really rude to stare."

"You do look awful, but I'm not staring… At least not on account of that. There is something we haven't properly discussed, Albus. I have already mentioned what we are doing is illegal and dangerous, which requires us to take some countermeasures. It is about those countermeasures I want to talk to you. There are some difficulties involved in the process..."

I tilted my head: "You have already mentioned I need to have an anti-age charm like yours, but that is only when we are traveling back in time. Though I guess a few days is still considered time-traveling… I don't understand the difficulty. It will take us no time to cast an anti-age charm in an object."

"Perhaps a practical demonstration is easier..." He began to unbutton his shirt, or, better said, his grandfather's shirt, for he was wearing the Swabian looks and none of his own clothes would have fitted him.

Be careful what you wish for, the thought of seeing the Swabian naked had indeed crossed my mind… But not every thought that crosses your mind is something you would actually want to become real. This being the case in point.

I took a backwards step: "Merlin's wand! Gellert what do you think you are doing?"

He laughed his raucous laugh: "When you act like that you do make me feel like I'm a vaudeville villain. And you are playing the young _ingénue_, my friend. You have my assurance that your innocence is perfectly safe with me. I have no intention of furthering your education in that particular subject unless you want me to. Remember, there is always choice..." I was looking at him still horrified. He explained: "I only unbuttoned my shirt because I need to show you something." He finished unbuttoning and showed me the mark of the Deathly Hallows framed by Augurey wings extending from his left shoulder blade into the back of his left arm.

I frowned: "Is that a tattoo? I guess that was not the Swabian's and a tattoo that remains unchanged even by Polyjuice Potion has to be powerfully magical. I've never seen one like this before..." I had been about to touch his tattoo, curious thing that I am, but was able to refrain by grabbing my right hand with my left and pressing them against my chest, just like the young _ingénue_ of a badly written vaudeville would do. I don't know who I was trying to convince when I protested: "And I'm not playing the part of young _ingénue_. I'm just choosier with my intimate friends than you apparently are."

He leaned towards me from the Swabian's height and my heart began racing wildly: "Is it your intention to invite an inquiry as to the actual criteria you use in choosing your intimate friends?"

He was using the Swabian physic to intimidate me. And it was working, I could hardly breathe. I was not able to reply.

His breath tickled my ear as he punctuated: "Because I'm definitely interested, Albus Dumbledore. Let me make that perfectly clear to you." Then he pulled brusquely away and buttoned up his shirt: "But we will have to leave that discussion for another time… When we can calmly address it. I prefer not to rush in such matters… I also prefer that both of us look like us when we do. Though I'm open to some experimentation… I'm Aristotelian." He ended with a devilish grin that looked really good on the Swabian and again made me blush even more. He stifled a laugh and then he said: "We have other more pressing subjects to discuss: I've already told you my pendant is more than an age charm as it helps me hide the signature of my magical energy…"

At last, a discussion I felt more comfortable with. I'm Platonic, when possible, I rather keep wild speculation restricted to the world of pure ideas. Or, as some people have thrown bitterly at my face, frustrated by my hesitance to act: I rather talk the talk than walk the walk. I don't think that is completely true; but, after some rather harsh lessons on the consequences of acting rashly that life has seen fit to teach me, I do like to ponder my actions carefully.

I said: "Yes, I'm not sure how you can charm any object to conceal your magical signature. That energy is imbibed in every single spell you cast because it is part of who you are."

"Ah, clever _Mr. Holmes_… It is such a pleasure to discuss things with someone who catches up right away. Explaining every single little thing can get so tiresome… My friend, the short answer is you cannot."

I smiled: "Please Gellert, you know I won't be satisfied with the short answer."

He smiled back: "Well, as long as it serves to keep you satisfied: Your magical signature is connatural to you and there is no way of perfectly concealing it. But there are some ways of hiding it so as to make it almost impossible to find. And that is done by a threefold process: first, by charming an object to conceal your identity –including, of course, your age,- second, by imbibing your magical nature with a trait that is compatible with you but other than you and, third, by casting with a different wand."

"But that would completely change the nature of your magic!"

"Yes, and that makes you very hard to be traced and in some cases to be even perceived by most available magical means. Most wizards, including Aurors, won't even think anyone would go as far to conceal themselves. Plus it makes you incredibly dangerous as you learn how to use any wand effectively -regardless of wood and core.- The catch is that, though you can learn to work with the object charmed and the different wand; imbibing your magical nature with something other than you is somewhat more difficult and permanent process."

"Merciful Merlin! Is that even possible?"

"Not according to western magic, but I've spent some fruitful months with American and Pacific Island aboriginal wizards and they undergo rites that completely change the nature of themselves and, hence, of their magic. Some of these rites include adopting a sigil or animal spirit as part of you."

I gasped: "But soul magic is the darkest of the Dark Arts!"

He smiled: "Ancient magic deals with energy and energy has no color, Albus. Not to mention the concept of soul is highly debatable. I've told you I'm Aristotelian, I prefer to deal with facts. The fact is that some very powerful Shamans can change their energy release up to the point of becoming nearly invisible when it comes to their magical signatures. They call themselves shadow walkers. I've undergone one such rite of passage to mask my magical signature and the tattoo is part of it. I've chosen the Deathly Hallows with augurey wings as a symbol of me and my crusade. Saying that this quest has changed the course of my life and the very nature of my magical gift is factual."

He was opening new avenues of thought to me. It was a whole new vision on magic and I felt intoxicated. I looked at him wide-eyed: "Ooh, this is absolutely fascinating! I've never known anyone even willing to discuss the subject of soul magic at any level of depth; let alone someone capable of actually going through the process of altering their soul. You, sir, are a giant among wizards."

He chuckled: "I'm glad you think so, because you are going to have to get a tattoo too."

"What?! You said you weren't going to push me into making any rash decision! Now you are asking me to undergo an ancient ritual and get a tattoo that will change the very nature of my magic? Merlin's might! You are asking me to change my soul! I'm Platonic, I believe in the abstract, including souls."

"I'm not asking you to undergo the full rite yet or ever, Albus. I'm fully committed to this but you don't have to be. As a temporary measure we could do a simplified version of the rite and a temporary tattoo: One that will fade after you change back from the Polyjuice Potion."

"I guess that doesn't sound that bad. And it would give me the chance to see what you are talking about." Damn my curiosity. He had me. I asked: "What kind of sigil or animal does it have to be?"

He shrugged: "It can be anything that inspires you as long as the image is sufficiently big to have the hidden runes inside it. Part of the tattoo is done with visible ink and the rest is done with invisible ink. And, since you are not undergoing the full rite, we will need to add more runes, so the more complex the image the better. Also, try not to make it too obvious. Especially if it is going to be located somewhere visible and I gather you won't want to get tattooed somewhere… err.. not visible."

"It depends on what you would consider a not visible location."

He scoffed: "I mean a place most people won't get to see; with you it could be on your knee."

I chuckled: "Deal! That spot is as good as any. But it has to be the left, I'm ticklish on the right"

"How on the name of Merlin can you be ticklish on just one knee?"

I shrugged: "I don't know, but the fact, my Aristotelian friend, is that I am."

"You won't get me to call you Platonic, my friend. And that is not the easiest place to tattoo, but I guess I brought it upon myself." He sighed: "What would you like to have on your left knee? Remember it has to be something that inspires you and complex enough."

I waved my wand, summoned a paper from my pouch and handed it to him: "Is this complex enough?"

He looked at it, turning it around, trying to make out what it was: "Talk about abstract. I can make it work, even if I cannot make out what it is. You are a gifted Alchemist, is it a conjuring pattern?"

I chuckled: "No, despite the accusations of hermetic secrecy being the bread and butter of alchemy, the craft actually thrives in clarity. Conjuring patterns are representation of the structure of the matter present in the compounds used for the potion, so though they do include lines and often dots; they are nothing like this diagram. This diagram is all but clear, I'll give you three guesses."

He narrowed his eyes: "Merpeople have no writing; but I know for a fact that they have some sort of numeration using knots in a cord… Is that it, a number written in Mermish?"

"That would have been good, but no. That is your second guess, my friend."

He pressed his nose in between the fingertips of both hands: "I need some time to think." He paced the length of the drawing room, breathing through his mouth, while he examined the paper containing lines in red, white and black. He stopped brusquely: "Is this some sort of map?"

I laughed: "Other children must have hated playing riddles with you. Yes, it is a map of London's Metropolitan Railway. It is an old one: from June of 1894, so the names of the stations have faded."

* * *

Harry and Hermione both jumped off their seat exclaiming: "Merlin's beard! He said it was a scar!"

They looked at each other smiling. Harry said: "You knew about his scar in the shape of London's underground?"

Hermione nodded: "Yes. But I guess it was really a tattoo… Though, technically, a tattoo is a scar."

Ron scoffed: "I can't believe you are still defending the guy. He lied as often as he breathed, luv!"

Ginny faced him looking pale: "Really Ronald Weasley? That is all you have to say on the subject?!"

Ron looked at her scratching his beard: "What's wrong with you, Ginny?"

Ginny ignored him: "The first thing that comes to my mind is asking: Harry, how and why exactly did you see the man's knees? 'Cause when we were at school he always used ankle length gowns and I can't very well picture any situation that would have justified him lifting them to knee level to show one of his students his bloody scar!" She turned to Ron: "Don't you want to know the same about Hermione?"

Ron pondered it for a couple of seconds and then shrugged: "No… Dumbledore was eccentric, I can actually picture him showing off his scar just because... Though the picture is not pretty. But I'm good. I mean, he was gay and Hermione is too smart to do anything stupid."

Harry said in a voice dripping sarcasm: "Thank you, mate. You are a real friend…"

Ron blinked looking at him nonchalantly.

"You are calling me stupid."

He denied swinging his head emphatically: "No, I'm not."

Harry scoffed: "Gin, love, I never saw the scar. He was eccentric but not in a bad way. He just mentioned he had it off handily during one of our conversations while I was scratching my scar. He said scars can be useful. Which, come to think of it, mine was. Even if the connection with Tom Riddle was unfortunate, it helped save the grandfather of our children, so it was useful in the end…Hmm… Perhaps his comment was not so off handed as I had thought it had been. Reading him calling Gellert Grindelwald Machiavellian is like the pot calling the kettle black."

Hermione said: "Yes, well, in my case he mentioned it quite purposefully, though more than I suspected it. He had come to visit me in the hospital wing while I recovered from my feline encounter of the furry kind and he was talking about how young people can make wrong decisions with the best of intentions. And how some of those decisions can leave a permanent scar in you, if you are not careful. We were having tea but he left earlier because he said he needed to review some inventory. He mentioned that some ingredients from the Potion's lab were missing. They were just the ones I had used to brew the Polyjuice Potion during our second year. He never punished me for stealing them, but I was convinced he knew what I had done. Good thing you cannot blush while you have a cat's fur on your face..."

Ginny nodded: "OK. That sounds like something he would have done. Though I wouldn't have pegged him for someone who'd get a magical tattoo to avoid the authorities, so what do I know about the guy?

"That is a fair question. If he still had the tattoo or a scar of it, then it means he underwent the full ritual. You know the only other instance of soul magic I have knowledge of?"

Hermione's was a rhetorical question, so no one bothered answering.

She sighed: "I only know another spell that affects the soul directly: the one used in the creation of a Horcrux. It requires you to murder someone and to perform a subsequent act so vile that even dark wizards hesitate to mention it. In all of Hogwarts, which is reputed to have one of the most complete libraries in the wizarding world, I was only able to find one single book that gives explicit instructions on it. And it is so foul that it was taken out of the restricted section and hidden elsewhere. So yes, I'd say that soul magic is the darkest of the Dark Arts. I too wonder what we really knew about Albus Dumbledore. And I wonder what to do with what we have learnt now…"

Those were questions each one of them thought fair to ask. They didn't have the answers, though.

* * *

Gellert laughed loudly: "Honestly? You feel inspired by an old map of the underground railway? And you dare call me insane, Monsieur Dumbledore!"

I smiled: "I don't feel inspired by an old map, Monsieur Grindelwald, it is a souvenir to commemorate an especial occasion. I'm a very purposeful person, my actions are seldom -if ever- random."

"I take it then that it has some emotional value. Would you mind it terribly, if I repaired it? It would make tattooing you easier."

I shrugged: "You can repair it. It does not have emotional value save to remind me of a lesson I learnt when I was thirteen."

He pointed his wand to the paper: "_Reparo." _Then he said:_ "Accio tattoo machine._" He set the ink and another mechanical contraption in a side table: "This is a modified version of Thomas Edison's electrical pen. I think that mine is better than the one by O'Rilley, but mine is magically modified."

I should have asked why he had designed and built a tattoo machine. Even without asking, I should have deduced that it could be used to expedite the soul changing rite, if his intention was to build an army of shadow walkers. But I didn't want to think about anything that could mean having to walk away from him. I was already deeply caught in the web he spun. Imagine a fly enamored of a spider.

I focused on something else: "Does it hurt?"

"A little, especially if you focus on it. How about you tell me what does this map commemorates?"

I blushed: "It's the kind of silly adventure a thirteen year old can have..."

"I highly doubt it is silly. Not if it is important enough for you to carry this around with you and for you to be willing to tattoo it, albeit temporarily. And the tale may distract you from the pain while I tattoo your knee."

"Fair enough, just promise you won't make fun of it."

"Promised," he said as he started to work on the tattoo.

It hurt more than a little bit. I had to breathe deep to steady myself and not budge: "Well, it happened on June 30th of 1894 on the end of term of my second year at Hogwarts. My birthday is on June 26th and, for reasons I don't really want to discuss right now, my family hasn't celebrate it since I'm ten, not that we ever did much anything before the incident…" I looked down.

He nodded without raising his head: "You mean the incident that sent your father to Azkaban."

I nodded, even though he wasn't seeing me.

He interrupted his work and looked up at me: "People at Godric's Hollow talks, Albus. And I can be very congenial when I need to."

"I bet you are. Anyway, by my second year I had managed to make a friend who liked me enough to be glad I had been born."

He smiled: "Good old _Watson_."

I smiled back: "Indeed, good old _Watson_. Back then it was beginning to be fashionable to give birthday gifts and, after some initial mutual mistrust, I had also managed to ingratiate myself to my friend's mother; and on the day of my birthday, I received a gift from them. It was a book I had wanted but couldn't afford to buy. I was really moved by it. It also happened that as people were made aware of my birthday, the prefects and a couple of boys I shared a dorm with decided to organize a party for me in the common room. People were in that celebratory post-examination mood, so it became something big. Which might have been uncomfortable, if it weren't for the fact that I was also in a celebratory mood. I had excelled in my exams; proving wrong those who had thought that the perfect score the little weird _moins-que-rien_ had achieved during his first year had been a fluke of nature. I got a perfect score all the way through seventh year."

He chuckled: "Bravo, Monsieur Dumbledore!"

I scoffed self-deprecating: "Yes, well, by the time the second school year ended and I had to go back to face my… family obligations… I was in a far broodier mood. I had walked forty minutes from King's Cross to Charring Cross Rd., dragging my heavy trunk as I couldn't afford a carriage. And I was pondering a course of action while stranded in the Leaky Cauldron. For the same reasons I'm not willing to discuss, my mum could be a bit disperse and often forgot to pay the bills, as a result I found myself unable to use the Floo Network to go back home. Our chimney had been taken off the network."

"I've never heard of a chimney being disconnected! Does that really happen?"

I laughed bitterly: "It does happen when you forget to pay for a whole year."

"Not paying bills for an entire year is much more than being a little disperse, Albus."

"My mum probably didn't remember that I needed the Floo Network to go back." I thought darkly that she may have even forgotten about me entirely, with her it could be out of sight, out of mind; but I just said: "In any case, my resources were limited: I couldn't afford Muggle transportation, even if I had known how to use it. And, though the laws against underage use of magic were not enforced as rigidly as they are now, given my father's history with law-enforcement and the difficulty of the spells, I was weary of trying to charm a portkey or apparate unauthorized."

"_A picsába! _What did you do, my friend?"

"I ended up having to send two owls, one to your great aunt and another one to Ms. Marchbanks to ask them to let me use one of their chimneys. The maid said that, due to the distance, I wouldn't have an answer until the afternoon. Then she asked if I wanted to order anything since they are a Pub and are in the business of providing food and beverage, she said it with more than a little sarcasm and cocking an eyebrow. There was a large group of older boys and girls that were eating and drinking while they waited for carriages to take them to the Tower Bridge inauguration; which, in despite of being a Muggle affair, had attracted much attention by the wizarding community. They were continuing their graduation celebration. It was a large group of Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs and even the odd Slytherin… They were downing the last drops of their carefree youth by being loud and rowdy with an outing, a last fanfare. But, of course, as the maid posed the question they all went silent and it felt like they were all staring at me waiting for the answer to the question. The answer should have been a firm no. I had already given them all the business I could afford. But I felt so ashamed that I ended up ordering a Butterbeer which left me all but destitute."

"You were left destitute by ordering one Butterbeer? What are they worth? Not more than a couple of Sickles..."

I sighed: "Butterbeers cost two Sickles. I had left school with exactly 6 Sickles and 30 Knuts in my pocket. I needed a Sickle and 15 Knuts to try to use the Leaky Cauldron's Floo Network again and had already paid for the failed attempt. Each owl cost 25 Knuts. One Sickle is equivalent to 29 nuts. After the Butterbeer, saving up the fair home, I was left with 8 Knuts at my disposal; which I consider pretty much being destitute. That is also the reason why I didn't try to use the Floo Network to communicate, I wasn't sure if anyone was home and to try to reach out would have cost me a whole Sickle for each attempt."

"Oh Albus," He said looking at me with something that seemed very much like pity.

I cleared my throat: "The carriages arrived and the older boys and girls got up and left." I signaled the map: "This was lying on their table and I picked it up. The letters were clearer then and the first name that caught my attention was that of Baker St. Station."

"Ah, you were a Conan Doyle's aficionado even back then!"

I smiled: "Yes, I was also terrified that the maid was going to ask me if I wanted anything else so, instead, I asked if she could watch over my trunk, which she accepted. And I left to go look for the street where _Sherlock Holmes_ was supposed to live."

"I did something of the sort with _Nagymama_ and was terribly disappointed to find that the actual street only has 85 numbers."

I chuckled: "Oh my story has a long way to go before reaching that sad finale. And it was disappointing, but at the same time it was liberating. Lend me your ear and I'll tell you all about it."


	9. Landing On Your Feet

Chapter 9 Landing On Your Feet

"_The dawn is not distant, nor is the night starless; Love is eternal!__" Henry Wadsworth Longfellow in Tales Of A Wayside Inn (1863)._

Let me start by saying that I had no way to procure transportation, but I was a bit tired of feeling impotence; I decided that, even if I was not going to infringe wizarding laws, I was going to sidestep Muggle laws."

He laughed: "Don't tell me you have done train hopping?"

"I might have. I was in an odd mood. I think the only reason why I didn't try train hopping was I didn't have knowledge of it. I decided I was going to get a ticket by using other skills."

He rose an eyebrow: "What skills?"

I laughed softly: "Skills I'm not proud of and which I began learning when I was six. When I was little no wizard nor witch of my town would play with me. You see, my family descends from Merlin through the worst possible branch of the family tree: Dumbledores are supposed to be descended of Viviane's daughter Nimue. Everyone in Mould-on-the-Wold knew it and we were shun by respectable wizards based on a story hundred of years old. I suspect that they also know it in Godric's Hollow, though they are less open about their suspicions towards us. They like to think themselves as more open minded as they are of a somewhat more scholarly bent, though accumulated knowledge does not necessarily open your mind."

"You don't say!"

I looked at him through narrowed eyes: "So you already knew."

"I researched you beforehand. And not only small wizarding hamlets like Mould-on-the-Wold and Godric's Hollow are hotbeds of malicious tittle-tattle. You are notorious enough to have garnished attention from the rumormongers in other places. Some of the articles that have been published about you, even in the Daily Prophet, have pointed towards the connection of your family to Merlin, and some of them do so in a dark light."

"I've done my best to ignore all of it. I'm with Marcus Aurelius, my friend: _choose not to be harmed and you won't feel harmed. Don't feel harmed and you haven't been_. As he points in his _Meditations_: there is emptiness both in applaud and derision. For both praise and condemnation are oft capricious and arbitrary; and both will be swallowed in the endless abyss of time like the matter of little consequence they truly are."

"You are too young to be a stoic, Albus."

I smiled sadly: "All the time travel I have done before meeting you has been in one direction; but the voyage has left me with enough experience to make me a stoic by choice as well as necessity." Inhaling deeply I said: "Back to the story: Mine is a heritage of betrayal, if you care to listen to those who would like to think Merlin is not dead like a mere mortal, but imprisoned by the guile of an evil witch. An evil witch who is my ancestor and, so infamous that she still casts a shadow over her descendants. Most of my family both on my father's and mother's side -at least those magical- have been Slytherins."

"My friend, all those stories are half legends."

"But the half-truths they contain are enough to make pariahs of my kin and me. The fact that my mum comes from a family that produces squibs doesn't help our reputation… We are suspected both by pure bloods and straitlaced wizards. My father's imprisonment seems like poetical justice to some."

He looked at me worriedly

Before the silence could turn awkward I said: "That is more than enough self-pity. The point is that, even before my father's arrest, no wizarding children would play with me and my four year old brother was a somewhat boring companion; so I decided to go play with the Muggle kids in town."

"You got to be joking. Weren't you afraid to be exposed?"

"I wasn't. I was inured to being around those without magic. My mum was never much of a caregiver, her life hadn't turned out like she wanted it and so she had taken to using dream inducing potions to give herself the life she thought she deserved. My dad was too self-involved in his own great schemes that never came to fruition to deal with us children when he was sober, which, as time went by, became a rare occurrence. Faced with failure his frustrations grew and he found solace in the bottle."

"Who took care of you while your mother dreamt and your father drank, my friend?

"We were left in the care of grandpa Abercrombie who was a squib, but he was the most wizarding man I've ever known. He had more understanding of true magic than most pure bloods I know. The only catch was he couldn't harness that magic through a wand." I laughed bitterly: "People talk, my friend, but they often leave out important information. My family has a reputation for being composed of pure blood zealots, but the fact that I was raised by a squib who I love dearly to this day, well, that is seldom, if ever, mentioned."

"People talking are like dogs barking, Albus, you are only to listen to the noise they make if the door is open and the dogs are out. You are wise to follow Marcus Aurelius, he also points out in his _Meditations_ that the meddling, ungrateful, arrogant, dishonest, jealous and surly lot cannot hurt you or implicate you in their ugliness as long as you don't let them."

I smiled: "Of course, you have read Marcus Aurelius."

He smiled back: "Of course, _Opa's_ library wouldn't be of any worth, if it didn't include the good emperor."

"My grandfather had been educated by the wind blowing through moor and up the highland. But he was a really smart man. Can you believe he was the one who taught me how to control my magic when I was six? He said: _Albus, I've been watching you boy and with you the gift is like a temper… And if a body should be mindful of a temper that is a redhead. 'Cause we have some big tempers, ma boy. Here are some words worth more than gold to you: temper can be like a horse, if you let it, it'll run out on you. Leave you lying on your bum hurt and ashamed. So when you feel that temper tugging at the reins, give it a good yank to stop it, then you calm it by humming or singing a tune until you are in control. That is the first part of it…You are wiser than your years and that's why I'll tell you the other part too: A redhead's temper like a fine horse can become your best friend. If you learn to ride with it, it'll carry you to the ends of the earth and back. Magic is will and will is magic, ma boy. We redheads are a willful lot."_

"Your grandfather was really insightful."

"He was insightful. I actually tried his advice about using my temper to channel my will with a spell that could give me gills to breathe underwater, which I had found in my father's scarce library -mostly composed by textbooks.- I went to the quarry and I focused hard, gave myself gills, dived and swam until I could swim no more. I almost went into a panic when I couldn't take them off, but I remembered what grandpa had said, I sang myself a song and then I cast the counter spell and breathed air again."

"You cast your first human transmutation spell wandless at the age of six? I'm impressed!"

I leaned towards him and said confidentially: "It made me foolishly confident that I could pass myself for a Muggle. I won't go into the specifics now, but I did pass myself for a Muggle. I kept the charade for almost four years. Four happy years until the very end when they went sour…" I sighed: "While I kept the pretense I made Muggle friends and some of those friends were not all that commendable; among other things, they taught me how to pick pockets."

"_Az istenit! _You can pick pockets?"

I handed him back his pouch he hadn't even noticed I'd taken: "The short answer is yes. Incidentally, your Vladislav is a sorry excuse for a pickpocket. You did more than consider taking my pouch from me, you actually instructed your valet to try. But I saw him coming from a mile away." I chuckled: "Since we are into full disclosure now. Let me tell you he wouldn't have been able to take my pouch off me without me noticing. Not even if he had hit me with a hammer on the head first. And I do consider the non-magical solutions to problems too. With you being so adamant that we dined at your table, I even considered that you were trying to dose me with something more than a sleeping draught." I took a bezoar from my pouch and showed it to him.

"Who carries a bezoar around? You are one suspicious wizard, Albus!" He said while showing me his own bezoar: "Birds of a feather..."

I smiled at him and, as he put his away, I played with my bezoar. I rolled it between my fingers; making it appear and disappear like an illusionist might do: "Back when I was a child, I liked performing small feats of illusion for my Muggle friends. The irony of a true wizard pretending to be a fake magician gave me a perverse pleasure. At times I can have a dark sense of humor. The short of it is I played the Muggle for a few years before going to Hogwarts."

He smiled wide: "Oh Albus, you know I can't be satisfied with the short version now. Not after this demonstration of skill. I have to know the full story of your days pretending to be a Muggle."

"It has a sad ending, my friend, one that left scars deep enough that I carry them to this day. Though I feel compelled to share it with you and that is something I feel for the first time. For now you will have to be satisfied with just a part of it, in order to finish the tale of the occasion this map commemorates, we'll have to leave the rest for later."

"As long as you promise to tell me the rest later. There is no strategy involved in me wanting to get to know you better."

I cocked an eyebrow: "Have you so little regard for my intelligence, Monsieur Grindelwald? You can't possibly expect me to believe that."

He chuckled: "Perhaps there is a bit of strategy involved, but, against my better judgment, I honestly want to spend time getting to know you better. For the more I know of you the better I like you. Though how can that be when I already like you so much is something I don't very well understand. You must promise to tell me the whole tale later on."

That echoed my feelings and I decided that, against my better judgment, I was going to make him my confident. So much for not wanting to address my family situation. Gellert Grindelwald had a very strange effect on me.

"Promised. I'll tell you all about my scars, later on. Back to this story: I walked to King's Cross, stole a railway ticket and began my ride towards Baker St. Station, which was only a couple of stations away. When the ticket collector came at Gower Street, I showed him the ticket. Unfortunately, I showed it to him inside a monogrammed wallet which was evidently not mine. He made as if to grab me and I made a run for it."

He laughed boisterously: "Why did you steal a monogrammed wallet?"

I sighed: "I figured that if I was going to break the law, at least I should travel in a first class carriage. I simply stole the wallet of the best dressed man that came near me while I leaned in a column watching the crowd to pick a mark. I admit it was a mistake, since I didn't steal clothes that looked first class too. I managed to get off the train in Great Portland Road. I thought that I was safe because the chubby ticket collector couldn't get off, but he yelled at a uniform through the window that I was a thief. Which I guess I was."

He nodded: "Technically you were."

"I had to make yet another run for it."

He chuckled.

"The Muggle bobby was harder to outrun than the chubby ticket collector. This chap was trained to catch thieves. But the friend who had taught me the trade had said that the true skills of the successful pickpocket were: a lightness of the fingers and a lightness of the feet. He was adamant that both were of equal importance and that both could only be acquired and sustained by training. To this day I swim and run daily… I often find myself playing with a coin or a pencil to keep my fingers deft without even thinking about it. I'm not exactly sure why I've chosen to preserve those skills, though, oddly enough deft fingers and a good physical condition allow you to do things with a wand most wizards can't."

He smiled his devilish grin: "And you claim not to be proud of those skills."

I shrugged: "That day escaping the Muggle police I didn't run, I flew on Hermes sandals. But still Bob wouldn't relent. He followed me out of the railway station. I chose to run to Regent's Park almost instinctively."

"Wild boy runs towards the woods."

"Perhaps there is something to that. I ran right into the Zoo. But it was a good thing because I ran into the group of boys and girls that had been at the Leaky Cauldron who were being as rowdy as before in front of the hippopotamus exhibit, making the animal's Arabian keepers frown. The loud group gave me the chance to confuse the policeman."

"You confused someone after just two years in Hogwarts?"

"We had charms lessons right after a seventh years' class. It was the fourth period the third being broom lessons, which -as you may surmise- I didn't much enjoy. I usually didn't have any feat of broom prowess to brag about, so I didn't linger in the yard. I arrived early at the classroom and saw through the open door how the seventh years cast. I picked up a trick or two."

"How did you know you weren't trading the coppers for aurors?"

"I figured out that, if I was among a large group of wizards and witches of age, even if they were barely so; I would not trigger the age-trace charms. And I was right. The policeman was confused enough to fall in the hippopotamus pit. All hell broke lose and I went onwards to Baker St. on foot. When I arrived I noticed the same you did: the street only has 85 numbers. 221B only existed in mi head and all my efforts had been for nothing. That is when it started to rain. It poured. Still, I thought it safer to go back to the Leaky Cauldron walking. By the time I arrived I was soaked to the bone but there was an answer, both my neighbors would receive me gladly. I flipped a coin and went to your great-aunt's. I still wrote a thank you note to Ms. Marchbanks as soon as I arrived home and had fed our poor owl Nyctimene. My mum had forgotten to feed it too and my brother only did when he remembered."

"Dream potions can have that effect in you, in some ways dream inducing potions are worse than alcohol. It seems that if you had an inheritance it would be one of escapism; but you have chosen to face life head on. Is that why, despite your parents being Slytherins and the Merlin connection, you are a Gryffindor?"

I smiled despondently: "It might be. Supposedly the Sorting Hat is unmovable in its decisions. I was terrified of being shunned last minute. I would have been glad to get in any house. But, while I was being sorted, I kept thinking how much I didn't want to be like my parents. Now I realize I could have done that just as well in Slytherin; but I didn't have that insight when I was eleven. Being quite frank, the houses are mostly a convenient way of assigning dorms and in general they allow to have like-minded people together. However, they seem to create a divide. I wonder if we wouldn't be better off without divisions."

He laughed: "That is a lost battle, take the houses and the people will end up creating their own divides. In Durmstrang it is every man for himself, which does not preclude the existence of some gang like alliances: the Quiditch players, the Duellists, the Potions Masters, the Charmers, even the Necromancers. As far as stereotypes go, at least, your school is supposedly fostering virtues like ambition, valor, intelligence and hard-work."

"With what group did your allegiances lay back in school, Gellert?"

"With none. I was pretty much a loner, Albus. Though I guess, when I was little, my allegiances were to the great name of Grindelwald. I was quite proud of myself back then."

I laughed softly: "_O foolish boy, so vainly catching at this fitting form? Avert your gaze and you will lose your love, for this that holds your eyes is nothing save the image of yourself reflected back to you..._"

He looked up from the tattoo, raising an eyebrow: "Really, Albus Dumbledore? Are you quoting Ovid's Narcissus to me?"

I chuckled and replied: "To me."

He laughed caressing my leg over the knee he was tattooing giving me goosebumps: "Is this one instance of you flirting unaware, my friend? Are you an Echo now?"

I must admit I was flirting. I was also skating thin ice. I decided that rather than get lost in his eyes; it was best to look away: "Now I'm in pain and wearing this awful rash. How long is it going to take you, my friend, to finish this tattoo?"

"I'm almost done and your tale is not done yet. You said the experience had been disappointing but also liberating. We've been through the disappointment, where does the liberation begins?"

I smiled sweetly: "Precisely when the disappointment ends. You see, my friend, I had translated Marcus Aurelius _Meditations_ as part of my Latin classes with the local vicar, without really grasping the depths of it. Perhaps I do have a heritage of escapism. But I've chosen the better share of it. That day I realized the meaning of the phrase I'd translated without truly understanding it: _Today I escaped anxiety. Or no, I discarded it, because it was within me, in my own perceptions- not outside. _Having realized that I had little control over outward circumstances, but full agency over my reaction to them; I began gaining control over my own destiny."

"A valuable lesson for a thirteen year old to learn, whilst some grown men never do learn it."

"That day Albus Dumbledore stopped being fate's fool and became the master of his life, in as much as we all can be. And that is what that map commemorates, my friend. That night I re-read _Meditations_ in one sitting. The next day I secured employment at the local librarian and the local pub. Your great-aunt provided me with references without really knowing me. For that I'm grateful. I worked two full time jobs and, by the end of the summer, I had paid off the debt and had our chimney reconnected. I also had enough left to buy some of the school supplies I needed, second hand, of course. You disparage the use of old text books, I bless the oversight because my father's and mother's old text books have served me well. The next school year, I began looking for ways of securing a better situation. By fourteen I was already writing papers, aiding in classes and doing every odd job I could lay hands on. So I was the factual bread winner of my home; set on procuring a better lot for myself; while taking the lot I had with much better spirits than I had so far."

"That is something to commemorate indeed. How did you end up taking classes from the local Muggle priest?"

"My very wise grandfather, noticing my less than honorable Muggle friends, wanted me to also become familiar with the best that Muggles have to offer. The local vicar was a hidden jewel: a free thinker who, even in doubt, found enough goodness in the idea of a god to devote his life to it. The priest was also an avid reader, he had been educated to become a prince of the church, but had renounced the race for becoming a bishop because he had little patience for clerical politics. That was a disappointment to the bishop who had sponsored him so far and the vicar ended up being exiled in Mould-on-the-Wold, where he passed his time providing spiritual consolation to old ladies and tutoring the local kids. I was one of those who benefited from it. He taught me Mathematics and Grammar. He also inculcated in me a love for knowledge that is the best gift any teacher can give you. When he realized how avid I was to learn all he could teach, he set up private lessons of Latin, Greek, French, Science and Philosophy."

"As I said, birds of feather…"

"The vicar appraised my quick wit and said that, being a leader among my peers, I had the moral obligation of becoming a beacon of light instead of the devil's instrument. I don't know how well I fared as a beacon of light. I still ran amok raising havoc with my Baker St. Irregulars in the afternoon. But in the mornings I learnt a great deal from the man. We aided each other to feel less lonely in Mould-on-the-Wold. Though it was not to last long. I had just turned ten when he died of the flu. I mourned him and my grandfather who had died a few months after the vicar. The priest bequeathed me his library. It includes a couple hundred of classics but also fiction books for the man loved Conan Doyle, Balzac, Poe and Hugo as much as he loved Newton, Pascal, Mendeleev, Clerk Maxwell, Gauss, Thomas Aquinas, Kant and Rousseau. Quite frankly, the vicar had a wide variety of interests, some of which weren't particularly pious. His library became the seedling of mine, for almost every penny I can spend on myself, I spend on books. I've preserved the vicar's library almost intact save for a couple of books my father burnt during one of our fights."

He frowned: "I'm sorry, my friend, but your father was a brute."

"I cannot argue you that." I sighed.

"Who took care of you after your grandfather and the vicar died?"

"I took charge of raising myself and my siblings as well as I could. Though I'm afraid I haven't been very successful fulfilling my family obligations."

He humphed: "Yes, I don't believe those family obligations truly belonged to a ten year old. But we'll leave that discussion also for later on. The tattoo is done. Now all we need is a piece of your soul."

I looked at him taken aback. But before I could protest he kissed me deeply. He coerced his tongue inside my mouth making me moan. I was lost in the kiss when he bit my lips sharply until he drew blood. I pulled away and broke the kiss. Using the Swabian's strength he held me fast with one arm while he passed his thumb over my bleeding lips.

When he let go I looked away, sucking on my hurt lip: "Was that really necessary?"

He didn't answer immediately as he was busy muttering some words in a language I didn't understand, making signs over the tattoo with the blood he had taken. But he had taken more than blood. Looking at his head leaning over my knee I realized I loved him. I barely knew the guy, I didn't trust him or his designs, but the undeniable fact was that I loved him. I tried telling myself that all I was feeling was want, but what I felt for Gellert Grindelwald ran deeper than desire. That left me utterly confused. Which I'm sure was exactly his intention.

He smiled: "Blood is part of the rite. The kiss was an added perk."

I frowned: "Next time, kindly inform me of what you intend to do before you proceed. That would be a requisite under the full disclosure agreement I will need in order to pursue this association with you."

"I'll tell you next time. Now we need to travel a few days back and set up the meeting with _El gato."_

"You are pulling my leg! Am I to stay in the bellboy's skin for a couple of days?"

"Actually, it will be more like a month. We need to establish our cover identities convincingly and you need to train using different wands with the disguise."

"Damn you Gellert Grindelwald! You should have told me this beforehand!"

"I'm telling you now." He smiled a sweet boyish grin: "Besides that will give us time to prepare your birthday celebration, Albus Dumbledore."

I scoffed: "My birthday was two weeks before we met, Monsieur Grindelwald."

He laughed: "That is one advantage of having a time-traveling device, your birthday is whenever you want it to be. And the training will be hard we'll need every day we can get for it. You'll see."

We traveled a month back. We engaged a somewhat more discreet room than the one we had in Paris in the newly rebuilt Claridge's Hotel. Before he had permanent boarding in his Belgrave Square apartment, Gellert usually stayed at The Savoy when in London. The man was not into self-denial. But he thought Claridge's worked better for our cover as filthy rich gentleman engaged in less than honorable pursues. After eating a very satisfactory lunch in Claridge's public room; he went -posing as the Swabian with a thick German accent- to set up a meeting with a shady wizard from Edinburgh. The chap promised to put us in contact with _El gato's_ right hand_. _It took us three days to finally meet with the brutish brother of the lady ruler of the Spanish wizarding underworld. After going back and forth for another three days; the exchange of carapace and pendant was agreed to take place a couple of weeks later. We checked out of the hotel and went back to Málaga, three weeks earlier than we had before the trip to Paris. I was beginning to understand why Gellert needed to keep careful register of his travels.

Karl the elf, who obviously was used to his master time-traveling and Polyjuice Potion shenanigans, greeted us just as warmly as he had before...or after. Time traveling can get a bit confusing. Gellert had Karl pack us a luncheon and water canteens in a couple of bags and we hiked up the mountain to find a suitable place to train with the use of different wands.

"All these used to be vineyards but the phylloxera fly took care of it. Now they are mostly empty but they will serve our purposes just fine."

We were standing in a clearing. He pulled a duffel bag from his space-pocket pouch and began setting things up.

I frowned: "What are those?"

"Those are bowling pins. Haven't you ever played?"

"I have, it was a very popular game back at school, what I meant was: What are those for?"

"To help you train in using different wands. I told you we need you to be battle ready."

I laughed: "Are you honestly suggesting I can get battle ready with something as ridiculous as bowling?"

He smiled: "My friend, you will find few things as interesting as ten-pin bowling! Are you familiar with a Muggle called Gauss?"

I nodded: "Yes, he was called the prince of mathematicians and I've already told you some of his works were in the vicar's library. You have a good memory so don't pretend not to remember."

His smile widened: "I do remember, but it seems you don't. I'll explain you why ten-pin bowling is fascinating while you train." He pulled a case full with wands: "I think you should try with this one first, it is Black Walnut with a kneazel whisker core."

"Merlin's beard! Where did you get all those wands? Did you steal them?"

He chuckled: "Not quite. They were lying in glass cases inside the Grindelwald's family mausoleum and I saw no reason for letting them lay there. Some cores, especially the Unicorn's hairs, had to be replaced. But I thought these wands were better off aiding me in my quest than rotting inside a tomb."

"You will go as far as grave-robbing your own family to get what you want? Who are you, Gellert Grindelwald?!"

He looked at me dead serious: "I'm the wizard who is going to save the world. And, if you manage to get past the minutia, you are the wizard who is going to help me accomplish it, Albus Dumbledore. Are you up for the task?"

It is easy to call myself stupid _ex post facto_, but I dare anyone to have stood there looking a that young man with steely resolve and not have believed every word he said.

I nodded seriously, wielding the Black Walnut wand: "You want me to topple the pins?"

He nodded back: "Yes, I want you to try. Let me go first though." He picked a wand from the case: "This is Spruce with a Unicorn core. It was Nagymama's and it is an endless source of frustration that I have a hard time mastering it. Let us say this wand shares on some of Nagymama's dark sense of humor." He swung the wand and all that came out of it were colorful sparks and a something that sounded pretty much like a farting fanfare. He inhaled deeply and, as he exhaled, he muttered angrily: "_L__ófasz!"_

I laughed: "Merlin's beard, Gellert! What happened? That was pitiable!"

He sighed: "Try your wand, Albus."

I did and I only managed to make the first pin quiver. I frowned: "What is wrong with this wand?"

He took it from my hand, flicked it and made a perfect strike: "Nothing is wrong with the wand." He flicked it again and the triangular frame of wood levitated to the pins that rose to meet it and were set up again. He handed the wand back and said: "Try again."

I did with all my might and all I managed was to topple the first pin: "Is this a trick wand?" Frowning deeply I cast wandless and made all the pins fall. "It is a trick wand! How dare you, Gellert!"

He laughed: "It is not a trick wand, my friend. It is a tricky wand for you, as I thought it would be; because Black Walnut and an unconventional core only works for self-aware and sincere owners."

I laughed meanly: "Then that wand is defective because you are many things, my friend, but sincere is not one thing I would call you."

He chuckled: "It doesn't need you to be sincere with others, but with yourself and I suspect that you, sir, practice the art of self-deception. I thought that wand would be the very worst pairing with you and that is why I gave it to you. You need to be able to use any wand. Because some powerful spells you can use to save your life work best through a wand. Hence, even if you are a gifted wandless caster, you still must practice and that practice needs to be progressive. Now you have seen what I mean you can start with an Elm, that being the most common wood in England. Here is one with a phoenix core, changing cores can be very tricky." He handed me the Elm wand.

"Were do you get that knowledge of wandlore?"

"From your Mr. Ollivander's note books. He keeps very good records and has very interesting insights. He also has a lax security in regards to his personal quarters, where he keeps his diaries. I was able to break in and copy the notes without him being the wiser. Though wandlore should be one of the few subjects restricted by your Ministry upon reasons of state."

I scoffed: "Again, I don't know if I should be impressed or terrified by you Gellert."

"This is serious and I like to be thorough in matters of life and death. Stop stalling, Albus, try again."

It worked better, but I only managed to topple a couple of pins: "Merlin's blood! Why is this so hard?!"

He sighed: "Loyalty: powerful cores get attached to their owners and commanding immediate loyalty from another person's wand is tricky. That is why it requires practice. Even if I'm making it easy by using a perfect equilateral triangle to set up the pins."

"Why would that make things easier?"

"It is a problem of connectivity. Keep trying while I explain it to you."

I was trying to get the triangular wood frame and the pins to levitate the way I wanted and was having a really hard time trying. I denied: "I don't think so, I need to focus all my attention to get even the barest magic out of this bloody wand. I don't think I can manage while chatting."

He laughed meanly: "Remember this is to get you battle ready? Do you honestly believe that in the midst of a life and death fight there won't be a hundred distractions worse than a conversational voice? It is crucial that you are able to cast with that wand and at the same time pay attention to what we say to each other, while ignoring the birds, the bunnies and the river. I need to know you will be able to do this before putting you in actual danger. The people we are facing are not going to be dueling politely. They are going to try to kill us and I don't want to get you killed. So please, Albus, do try."

"I'm trying!"

"Then try harder!"

I inhaled deeply: "Fine, I'll try harder. Carry on."

* * *

Ron Weasley exclaimed: "Bloody Hell! Can you believe this guy? Who thinks of training with different wands? And he was sixteen, well eighteen if you go by biological time or whatever… I remember what a hard time I had with Charlie's old wand and how bad Neville was with his first wand; so it might be useful to give it a try… I mean, if I were still an Auror I might have liked to look into it, mate."

Hermione shot an inquiringly look at her husband but he evaded her eyes. Ron seldom mentioned his time in the Aurors. She sighed and kept reading.

* * *

"Ten pins set up in an equilateral triangle are the 4th Triangular number T4=10. Triangular numbers are figurate numbers that count objects arranged in equilateral triangles and are a very interesting concept. This Muggle Gauss is said to have calculated T100 to solve the question of adding up the first 100 numbers. Legend has it his teacher left the task to get the children out of his hair but little Gauss solved it almost immediately by realizing that he could pair numbers up to ease the task."

I was working hard on toppling the pins but I stopped: "I'm not sure I understand what you mean by pairing numbers to ease the task."

He chuckled: "Give it a thought, here is a clue: leave out 50 and 100, that way you can arrange the rest of the numbers to add them easily."

I was sweating, but I had managed to topple all pins but two. I sighed, pulling at my lower lip. Then it hit me: "If I take 1 and 99 they add up to 100. Is the same if I take 2 and 98, and so forth up to 49 and 51. I have 49 hundreds which mean I have 4,900 plus the100 and the 50 I had left out."

"Exactly. You only need to add three rather easy numbers to get the answer which is T100=5,050." He wrote with his wand on the soft soil: "All triangular numbers can be expressed as _Δ= _n*(n+1)/2."

"That is interesting but I don't see how the equilateral triangle makes getting a strike easier?"

"Let me explain it, my friend, T4 =10 and is also the result of adding the first four numbers. It is also the answer of how many handshakes are given so that everyone gets to shake everyone else hand in a room with 5 people. You can think that the first person shakes hands with 4 people, the second has only 3 people left to shake hands with and so forth." Again he wrote on the ground: "The total number of handshakes is n*(n-1)/2 with n=5 which equals 10. But 10 is the 4th triangular number so you only need to calculate Tn-1 to get the number of handshakes that are given in a room with n people..."

I gasped: "It is a problem of connectivity! And what is a strike but the pins all giving handshakes to each other in a way that gets them toppled?" My grandfather Abercrombie talked about cheap miracles, when referring to little coincidences that keep everyday life magical. In that precise moment I got a strike: "A strike! I got a strike!" I was so happy that I hugged him.

He hugged me back and leaned in to give me a kiss. This one was sweet and playful.

Still embracing him I asked: "What was that for?"

He chuckled: "I just felt like kissing you."

I laughed softly: "And I had thought it was a reward for getting a strike."

He laughed wickedly: "Is that a better incentive than keeping yourself alive? Very well, every time you get a strike you'll get a kiss."

Then it hit me: "Sweet Merlin! I still look like the bellboy! You shouldn't have kissed me!"

"Calm down Albus, I'm not going to get sick just by kissing you."

"No it's not because of that. It's because I look so hideous. Why would you want to kiss me looking like this?"

"Your looks are kind of growing on me. They don't seem half as bad, as long as you are the one wearing them. You shine even through the bellboy's skin, my friend."

I didn't know how to respond to that: "Ah..."

"Now, why don't you try with an English Oak wand, but this one with a dragon heartstring core. You'll try while I tell you about Fermat's polygonal number theorem and how Gauss figured out that all positive integers can be expressed as the sum of three or less triangular numbers..."

We trained, talked and kissed until I felt my body aflame. Part of it was probably due to the weather, I didn't want to over-think about what the other reasons might be.

He looked at the sun that had begun going down in the horizon from where it had been at midday. He began unbuttoning his shirt as he said: "I think that is enough for today. Why don't we have a swim in the Guadalmedina river and then we head back home for dinner? I'm famished."

"Uh, did Karl packed the swimsuits?"

He laughed raucously: "Albus, none of my old school swimsuits are going to fit these bodies. The Swabian is too big and the bellboy is too lanky. I'm going to have a swim because I'm dusty and sweaty. There is no hidden hook in my proposal. If your standards of decency don't allow you to skinny dip, you are welcome to stay back." He turned his back on me and continued disrobing.

It was a very hot June day and I was sweaty and dusty too. Besides, it was not really my body being exposed to indecency; but that of the bellboy. Something told me indecency was an old acquaintance of the guy. Thinking about the bellboy's naked wiry, rash covered body almost made me gag. I figured out my virtue would be perfectly safe as long as I was wearing the boy's looks. I followed Gellert to the river undressing as I went.

We were laying naked on the riverbank, drying up in the sun when it hit me. How odd it would be that when I went back home, I was going to go back only a few hours after meeting him. I was barely able to remember how my life had been before we got to be together all day long. The bleak days, filled with menial tasks and drudging, with nothing to hope for, seemed like a bad dream. But, eventually, I had to go back to that life. For my life was not my own. I had lost the right to it when I acquired the debt I owed to my brother and sister.

The image of Aberforth and Ariana weighted heavily on me. I felt the pull of my obligation to them like a curse I couldn't escape. I couldn't help it. I began crying with long, drawn up sobs of perfect despair. I embrace my legs and I rocked back and forth burying my head between my knees. All my claims of having found peace in stoicism tumbling like a castle of cards.

Gellert embraced me from behind. Rocking with me and hushing soothingly until the sobs turned into sights and then into silence. He caressed my hair and said: "Do you want to talk about it?"

I sighed deeply: "You are going to hate me… Just like everyone else." That thought almost sent me into another fit of crying. I buried my head deeper in my knees.

"Albus Dumbledore, there is nothing you can tell me that could make me hate you."

I laughed bitterly: "Wait until you hear this. This is bad."

He embraced me tighter: "Then let it out. You cannot heal if you keep what's wrong inside you."

I nodded: "This is about the time I spent pretending to be a Muggle boy."

"You said it ended up with you getting scarred. Did they hurt you?"

"No. I wasn't hurt directly..." I hesitated: "I've never talked about this with anyone before. I'm not sure where to start."

"How about you pick it up where you left it last time. Your grandfather and the vicar had died. Yet you were still pretending you were a Muggle."

"That's the thing. I was no longer pretending. When the vicar died and left me his library the cat was let out of the bag. My father was furious; he forbid me from going into town. Since I was only a few months away from being able to go to Hogwarts, I decided that I would obey the man. I basically locked myself in my room and began methodically reading the library the vicar had bequeathed me. That is how my father found me. He had been looking for me to try to teach me to ride a broom for the umpteen time. I told him I was not interested. He took offense. We had a big fight. He burnt two books and I set his favorite broom on fire, mostly unintentionally, at least on my part. He slapped me. I let my temper run wild and called him a drunkard and a failure. We were making enough noise to wake up my mum. She came out of her room furious like a dragon and she said that we'd better stop the infernal din. My dad knew better than to cross her so he shut up. When she asked me where grandpa was I felt thunderstruck. I told her that grandpa had been dead and buried for months. She just stared blankly at me. And father..." I felt a lump in my throat: "Father just laughed. I couldn't stand it. I stormed out and went to the quarry."

"The quarry where you gave yourself gills."

"Yes. I feel a keen affinity to water. It soothes me. One of the best things of diving is that tears get lost in the water. It is easier not to cry when you are underwater."

"You are a Cancer, a child of the moon. Your tears are pearls for the fish in the deep."

I smiled: "And you are a Leo, a child of the sun. Your laughter is a breeze for the birds in the sky."

He shrugged: "We are both denizens of the summer."

"I didn't give myself gills that time. I was not alone. There was a boy there: Gabriel. He was the youngest of the parson and one year older than me. The parson and his family had been en route to become missionaries in Africa; but the autumn had caught up with them before they could set out. The parson was trying to figure out what to do, for they weren't going to be able to set sail until the following spring; when, advised of the vicar's dead, he had come to fill in temporarily. Gabriel's father was a very different kind of priest from my old vicar. He was the type who peddles a fire and brimstone version of the afterlife to scare people into behaving in this life. His two older boys were cut from the same pattern as he was: Surly men with little to say save for pointing without leniency or compassion at the faults of their fellow men. The mother was a pale skinny woman with little character of her own. It is sad when a person becomes an afterword and this woman felt comfortable in the role of addendum to her husband grandiloquent preaching. I would have never gotten close to that Muggle family, if it hadn't been for Gabriel. The youngest son of the parson was a free spirit. He was beautiful like a Ganymede and fearless like an Achilles. He and I became fast friends almost on the spot."

"Ah, you fell in love with the boy."

"I think I was too young to really understand what love is. But I felt so drawn to the boy and I felt so little consideration for my father's prohibition that I began playing a dangerous game. I often escaped home to go visit Gabriel and his family."

"Did they found out what you are?"

"I think the two older boys suspected me. I was infatuated enough with Gabriel to want to bend some rules for him. Things seemed to accommodate to my friend's whims on their own accord. His older brothers grew vigilant, but I was an arrogant fool."

"How so?"

"For example: they kept interrogating me about where I lived and one time they had tried to follow me home; I put a curse on them so they could only walk over their own steps in a circle. According to Gabriel it had been past nightfall when they managed to find their way back home. Their father had used the paddle on them, even though the oldest one was fourteen."

"Oh Albus, you devil."

"I would find it funny, if it weren't for the fact that those fools thought I was a devil." I sobbed again.

He caressed my back: "It's alright, Albus. You can tell me anything."

I muttered: "Among all the rumors you've heard about my family… Have you heard about my sister?"

He shrugged: "People say that your mother birthed a squib girl and was so ashamed of it that she hid her in your attic. After getting to know you I'm convinced you couldn't tolerate that."

"My sister Ariana is not a squib, once upon a time she was the very opposite of it. When she was a baby she was so downright magical that when she took her first steps, flowers grew where she passed. Then she tried to run, fell on her buttocks and cried." I chuckled: "She cried so hard she managed to cast a small cloud right over her head. My father just laughed at her and my mum was… under the weather. So it wasn't until my grandpa comfort her that the cloud disappeared. I loved her dearly."

He looked frowning at me: "What happened?"

"After the incorporation of the Kingdom of Manipur to the British territory, her majesty found herself new souls to convert to the Anglican church and Gabriel's father was called forth for the task. They were going to leave earlier, before the winter could make the voyage difficult. I had some savings and wanted to buy some confectionery for Gabriel, I had been doing that when I learnt the town's gossip from an old associate of mine. I felt quite devastated. I needed to at least say goodbye. I went home looking for a pirate novel of Salgari: _The Tigers of Mompracem_ which I had read to him and he had liked and then I went to find him. My little sister wanted to play bouncy but I was in rush."

"What is bouncy?"

"Bouncy is a game we invented in which we made each other rubber like and bounced in the garden."

"Ah, it is not so much as you invented it, I think that versions of the game are re discovered by wizarding children over and over."

"I was in a hurry. I ran out and I closed the garden door behind me but..." Another sob broke my voice: "Ariana was so magical… And grandpa was right, magic is will, will is magic. She managed to open the door and followed me. My brother loves Ariana blindly, he followed her. The parson boys found them trying to play bouncy."

Gellert gasped: "_Kegyelem,_ Merlin!"

"They though she was possessed. She was powerful but she was only six. She was petrified. Aberforth tried to stop them but the second boy immobilized him while the eldest tried to exorcise her. That is how I found them. I went berserk. I thought that as they had wanted the devil they had finally found him. I'm not sure how I did it, I cast a hail and fire storm and made them run. But Ariana was lying on the floor catatonic. I carried her home with Aberforth's help and went inside to find my parents. My mum was out cold. I finally managed to wake up my father and told him what had happened." I began crying once more: "I don't think he would have done what he did, if he had been sober. He was furious, unhinged. He really scared me. I couldn't answer when he asked who had done it. But Aberforth told him it had been the parson's boys. What happened next was in the papers. He attacked the parish, he used _Crucio_ in the older boy and _Imperius_ on the middle child to make him torture Gabriel." I moaned: "Even though he had nothing to do with it. When the parson came out to try to defend his sons, my father used _Avada Kedavra_ on him. I think that finally sobered him up. He came to the house looking very pale. He said I had to go hide with Ariana before the Aurors came."

"Where did you hide?"

"I hid in the quarry. I gave us both gills and held my sister's unresponsive hand until I was sure the Aurors had left. I carried her back home and found my mum crying. She spat on my face and said that I was supposed to watch over my brother and sister and now I had left them orphaned."

He turned away from me shaking and with his hands in fists. My lips quivered as I tried to justify myself: "I didn't mean to. Please don't hate me!"

He turned around: "How could I? I was trying to refrain from telling exactly what I think of a mother that can say that to her own child." He breathed in deeply: "Albus, hurt can fix us in a place and prevent us from moving on as if we were a butterfly pinned to the felt. I know there is a grieving ten year old inside you and is to that little boy I want to talk to: What happened was not your fault."

I mumbled: "The evidence is pretty condemning."

He scoffed: "How close to your home did the attack on your sister happened?"

"It was right outside our garden. The Muggle boys had seen the direction I had gone to when I cursed them and were looking for me."

"It is not the responsibility of a ten year old to make sure his house had protective spells in place to guarantee no Muggle would go near it and if they do that they won't be able to see a thing. Furthermore, even that zealot Muggle ran out to defend his young when he heard them being tortured. Didn't your brother and sister make a sound as they were being hurt?"

"I suppose so."

"The moment you noticed what was happening you ran to them, a very natural reaction. Where were your parents, Albus? That is, of course, a rhetorical question. It is easy to surmise one was with the bottle and the other with the dream potion. They should have watched over you, failing that they should have stopped the attack and oblivated the boys. It was not you, a mere child, who should have protected your brother and sister. That was your parents' responsibility to protect all of you. They failed all three of you and, frankly, my friend, given their parenting skills, they had left you three orphaned way before the incident."

It was as if he had drained an old festering wound. The pus was out and I could begin to heal. I embraced him tightly, forgetting we were both naked. I had bared my soul to the man, shared my deepest darkest with him; baring my skin seemed of little consequence. Sex is just one way of being intimate and in that precise moment it was the furthest thing from my mind. I let myself be comforted and, for the first time in eight long years, I was able to forgive myself from the heart.


	10. Nothing New Under the Sun

Chapter 10 Nothing New Under the Sun

"_There is no similarity, no likeness of one thing to another, as great as the likeness we all share. Thus whatever definition of a human being one adopts is equally valid for all humans.__" Marcus Tullius Cicero in Law (De legibus circa. 40 BC.)._

Ron Weasley was trembling. He got up, then he sat right back down. The trembling grew worse. He hit the table with an open palm, mostly to stop himself from shaking. Then he buried his head in his hands and silently wept. His friends looked at him befuddled, fixed in their sits, unable to react, as if restrained by a powerful curse.

Hermione was the first one to be able to get up. She went to her husband and hugged him tightly by the waist from the side. She didn't say a thing. People with baggage are weary to let their demons roam freely. She let him grab a hold of himself. When he did, he turned around, he kissed her and embraced her tightly by the waist. She asked softly: "What is it, my love?"

Ron let his wife go. He laughed curtly and said: "I used to play bouncy too."

Ginny and Harry shot him an interrogative look but remained silent.

Ron passed his hand through his hair; which was not as long as Bill's, but longer than the buzz cut he had worn when he still was in the Aurors. He cleared his throat and explained: "Gellert Grindelwald is right again. Bouncy is rediscovered by wizarding kids time after time. Though we Weasleys have never been a classy lot, we used to call it rubber butt..."

Ginny protested: "Hey, speak for yourself, bro, I am classy! But sure, you Weasley boys are all rubes."

Ron looked at her with red but steady eyes. He chuckled softly. Then he went serious again and asked her: "Do you remember when we were living in London, Ginny?"

Ginny's eyes grew wide with surprise: "We lived in London?! I don't remember ever living anywhere else but the Burrow! You are winding me up!"

"I'm not surprised you don't remember. We moved out by my fourth birthday, you were two and a half. But we used to live in central London when dad was working in the Department of Mysteries."

"Bollocks!" she cried out and immediately covered up her mouth. Hermione had gifted them a book about how babies learned things even in the womb. So Ginny was trying to quit cussing and, save for Quidditch matches when the Holly Harpies were losing, she mostly managed. Ginny asked incredulous: "Dad, our dad: Arthur Weasley used to work in the Department of Mysteries?"

Ron smiled weakly: "He wasn't part of the Order of the Phoenix just because, sis. He joined Mysteries right after school and apparently was underway to becoming top dog there for his studies of Muggle and Wizarding concurrent energy management. Whatever that is. I didn't know about it either. Bill told me quite forcefully when I was eleven and complained about not being able to have new clothes and books for Hogwarts. I was saying the reason we were dirty poor was dad's lack of ambition. He told me I'd better shut up, I didn't and then he reminded me the story I had forgotten. I probably forgot the incident 'cause it was my fault that he had to quit his job and we had to move."

Hermione frowned: "How could it had been your fault? You said you were only four at the time!"

Ron leaned on the table with his palms supporting his forehead: "I made him quit 'cause I could no longer stand living in London after the incident… Our incident… not bloody Dumbledore's… Though things haven't changed much in these hundred years..."

Harry, Ginny and Hermione looked worriedly at each other.

Ron inhaled deeply: "We lived in a flat at Osborn St. on a second floor right in the middle of Spitalfields, a couple of blocks away from where Jack the Ripper murdered Victorian red ladies." He looked at his wife defiantly, but Hermione did not protest the word red ladies. He carried on: "We were a big family and the only flat big enough to accommodate us all in central London that we could afford was there. Half the neighbors couldn't speak English; most of them were Muggles who came from Bangladesh. OK people, despite being Muggles, I guess. I remember curry being nice. We tried it one time mum took us to the Muggle market, which is right above the wizarding one that is underground. It was noisy, colorful and a bit scary, but it was fun too."

Ginny swung her head from side to side: "I don't remember a thing!"

"It's OK Ginny, you were so little, and perhaps it is best you don't remember..." He sighed: "The flat was crowded. Mum and dad had the master bedroom. Charlie, Bill and Percy shared another room. I shared the third bedroom with Fred and George and you slept in a basket in the living room. When the incident happened dad had just been promoted, he and mum had been looking for a house where we could all live more comfortably. It had to be close to the Ministry 'cause dad's experiments often made him keep odd hours. He was permanently on call and that way he could spend some time with us and mum. At times he could only come home for an hour, grab something quick to eat, kiss each one of us and go right out again."

Hermione said: "So the incident happened there?"

Ron denied: "No, nothing happened to us while we were living in Spitalfields. The incident happened right after moving to the house in Hallam Street in Marylebone. It was a five story building that had once belong to some Muggle woman with an infamous reputation that made the place relatively cheap. It had been changing hands since 1836. Muggles avoided it. It was supposedly inhabited by ghosts, but there were no real ghosts in it. We only found a doxy infestation when we moved. Charlie says that there was a dungeon in the basement, but we kids weren't allowed to go down. Charlie had only sneaked a pick when he had fetched dad's lunch while he was fixing the place. Doxy dust can induce hallucinations, if you don't get rid of them. That and the house reputation is what probably made the Muggles see ghosts. The reputation was good in keeping Muggles out, so my parents bought it gladly."

Hermione jumped off the seat: "Merlin's wand! First Jack the Ripper and then your family moved to the house where Theresa Berkley lived!"

"Yes, I think that was the name of the infamous Muggle lady. How on Merlin's name can you know that, luv?"

Hermione cackled meanly: "Because that was indeed a Victorian Red Lady, my love. She was an infamous governess!"

Ron frowned: "You mean like a teacher, luv?"

"Only in a very twisted way: dominatrix were called governess back then. Even the king was said to have enjoyed her hospitality. The letters from her patrons of the high aristocracy both male and female supposedly could have set the world on fire, which is probably why someone burnt them, breaking into the place around the time the woman died in shady circumstances."

Ron nodded: "There were traces of a big fire in a couple of the rooms on the third floor. Especially around a hole in the wall that had an iron box in it. Dad called the box a safe. If you ask me, it was not safe at all. Give me a Gringotts' vault any day over that, but, ya know? Muggles… The damage was nothing that dad and Bill couldn't fix, but we used to wonder what had happened. Now I know thanks to my wife that literally knows everything." He smiled goodheartedly.

Hermione wasn't smiling back, she was frowning.

The wizarding world was indeed a guarded place. Ginny asked: "What is a dominatrix?"

It wasn't Hermione who answered. Harry, blushing, leaned towards his pregnant wife and explained it whispering in her ear.

Ginny looked at him appalled, not sure she had got it right: "Do Muggles really do that?"

Hermione nodded: "Some do and some charge a fee for doing it. Apparently you lived in the house where the woman plied her trade, Ginny."

Ron pointed out: "That is probably why we kept finding these long flexible whip like birch branches. Percy thought the house had at some point belonged to a wand maker." He whistled: "Boy was he wrong! I guess that the horse curry comb we found in the attic was not used on a horse either. No wonder mum burnt it to a cinder when she found us playing with it. Merlin knows the things that poor comb had witnessed..."

"How can you make jokes about this?!"

Ron chuckled, he could make jokes about anything, he coped with a lot doing that: "I thought you were the one who wanted us to be able to discuss these topics from this side of the twenty-first century." He smiled impishly: "You were even willing to teach me weekly lessons on Muggle naked artistry, luv."

Hermione threw him an admonitory look: "Ronald Bilius Weasley, thread carefully or I will teach you a lesson."

Ron held her eyes steadily and said: "Hermione Jane Granger, I'm always willing to learn whatever you are willing to teach."

Harry cleared his throat.

Ron stifled a laugh, sometimes his best mate took life too seriously. Growing up with Fred and George, developing a sense of humor was a matter of survival instinct. He said to Hermione: "I'm actually more interested in finding out about how you know of Theresa Berkley's reputation and trade? You seem very well informed, luv."

Hermione responded in a flustered and dignified tone: "You know I read anything that falls in my hands. I can't help it. I read the back of the cereal boxes for crying out loud! The woman was mentioned as a notorious resident in Victorian Marylebone in one of the periodicals my dad had in his waiting hall. It was summer break, his receptionist was on vacations, I was available to cover for her and, in slow days, I got bored and read all the magazines there. All I know about the lady and her trade is limited to what was in a footnote with a quote of Henry Spencer Ashbee that expounded on it."

Harry scoffed: "Get out! You found about an infamous Victorian dominatrix on the footnote of a magazine in a dental office?"

"Daddy is an orthodontist, actually, but yes… that is where I found it. In all fairness the magazine covered a wide array of topics with somewhat encyclopedic aspirations." She continued with the same tone she had used to explain a lesson at school: "The description of the woman's trade was extensive, it mentioned the birch branches, battledores, horse's tacks and curry combs, butcher's brush, nettles, cat-o-nine-tails, a butcher's meat hook with pulleys in the attic and a contraption she invented called the Berkley Horse in the basement. According to Spencer Ashbee, if you had plenty of money you could enjoy the woman's brand of hospitality, whether to give or take. Though Ms. Berkley didn't enjoy to be in the receiving end save for the mildest of treatments, she had whores in waiting to accommodate her patrons." She looked at her husband as defiantly as he had when he had said red ladies as she called them whores. Then she ended: "I suspect, given his enthusiastic description, that he enjoyed the woman's hospitality himself."

Ginny asked: "Most of those are names of plants or stuff you use to care for horses... How does that work exactly?"

Harry couldn't have blushed redder: "I'll explain it to you latter, Gin. When we are home."

Ginny put two and two together and frowned: "No, wait… I'm starting to get the picture and I think that is as far as I want to know about the woman's hospitality… What on Merlin's name was the meat hook for? Nope, I'm good. I really don't want to know. Yikes!" Then she turned towards her husband and said: "I just want to know one thing: How do you know about this stuff, Harry?"

Turns out Harry could blush redder: "Not here, Gin."

"Sure, I'll wait till we are home to find out."

Ron sniggered: "Chill, Ginny. Dirty mags both Muggle and Wizarding were passed around in Hogwarts. Dumbledore was right in that too, porn is the great equalizer. Even that saint of a husband you have had a butchers. If it is any consolation, he was more terrified of some of those mags than of Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters. You married a good man, sis. Though I guess you don't tell each other everything, everything. Wouldn't be healthy, if you ask me..."

While Ginny and Harry were having a small meltdown in a corner of the dining room, Ron focused back on Hermione.

He cocked an eyebrow: "Why now, Mrs. Granger- Weasley, I do think that you finding out in a digest is a perfectly reasonable and innocent explanation of how you were informed of the scandalous woman's trade. I have one perfectly reasonable and innocent explanation too. We lived first in Spitalfields, a couple of blocks away from where two victims of the Ripper were found; and then in the den of the infamous Victorian dominatrix precisely 'cause both those locations are just the kind of places Muggles avoid like the pox." He adjusted some imaginary spectacles over his nose and continued in a mock didactic tone: "It is well known fact that wizards choose those locations to live in not 'cause they like haunted, shitty places or 'cause they get their kicks out of kink, luv, but 'cause the bloody Statute of Secrecy forces us to… That has to do with the incident too, if you care to learn about it."

Ginny and Harry had made up and were back. She told her brother to mind his language, covered a giggle with a little cough. And Harry looked away to hide his own smile.

Hermione moaned and grabbed at a couple of bunches of her curly hair, pulling them down to her shoulders, making her look as if she were wearing a hood made of her own messy hair: "Oooh, I'm so sorry, my love! You were trying to tell us about the incident and I got us sidetracked."

Ron sniggered: "Yes, you do tend to do that, luv." She did, when she didn't want to face an issue.

Hermione released her curls and made as if she were locking her mouth and throwing away the key.

Ron Weasley had fallen in love with his wife, all of her, even with her tendency to ride high horses. So he smiled at her with the tenderness we save for those we care deeply for, even when they have wronged us. He knew it was not she didn't care, but that she cared too much.

He kissed Hermione lightly on the lips and carried on: "We moved to the house in Hallam Street and for the first time ever we each had a room for ourselves. We had a backyard with a birch tree and several rooms to play in and explore inside the five story house. There were even a couple of wizarding families around. Dad could share a portkey to the ministry with the fathers who worked there too. Mum made friends with the other mums, she even found a Celestina Warbeck fan among them. And we made friends with the kids. I love my brothers, but being able to have playmates close to my age, other than Fred and George, was very nice. We were all happy in the place, until that happened…" He stopped.

Harry patted him gently on the shoulder as he passed to go back to his sit: "It's alright, mate, you know you can tell us anything."

A deep frown creased Ron's forehead: "It happened one Sunday in late August, a bit before Bill and Charlie had to go back to Hogwarts. Dad had taken them and Percy on a fishing trip. They got up in the middle of the evening as dad wanted to be on the boat in the lake at the break of dawn. We sent them off with an impromptu farewell party. Mum made cakes and sandwiches and tea; as if they were explorers going to the North Pole, instead of just going away for the day. When they were gone mum told us to go back to bed, but we were too wired up to sleep. That's when Fred suggested we played rubber butt in the backyard…"

Harry, Ginny and Hermione shared another troubled look, bracing themselves for impact. They could surmise what was coming. People who have been through a lot, and those three had seen half their school promotion laying dead on the floor during graduation, often find coping mechanisms to deal with their emotional baggage. Each one of them turned to their weapon of choice to steel themselves.

Ron sighed deeply: "There was a full moon up in the sky, we didn't need light to move around. George and Fred kept egging each other to bounce higher and higher. I didn't want to fall behind, I did it too. Better said that I tried, but I was four and I'm no brilliantly magical. I was barely able to get off the ground. I'm not even sure how many of those times I actually used magic. Most times all I managed was to hurt my bum. Then the twins started laughing and calling me soggy butt."

Ginny scoffed, a bit like her mum, her coping mechanism was focusing in trivial things to create distance: "Sometimes the twins could be proper wankers. Darning socks, can't stop cussing."

Ron smiled sadly, Fred had been dead for five years, but they still thought of the Fred, George duo as the twins, even if nowadays they talked about the twosome in the past tense. George barely talked about his brother, whenever he did, it was clear he had to force himself to. Ron could not begin to imagine what he felt.

"Guess Dumbledore's squib grandpa knew what he was talking about. We redheads have tempers. I hadn't wet the bed since I was three, not that odd, but it was just another thing in which I had lagged behind all of my siblings, including Ginny. The name made me so bloody angry. I saw red. Somehow I managed to bounce." He sighed, lost in the memory: "I bounced so high that I went right over the hedges. I kept bouncing on the pavement in the street. A car full of Muggles was driving by just then. It swerved to avoid hitting me and crashed loudly on a streetlamp. I had no control over it. I bounced once more and I landed on a vacant lot that was in front of the house. I hit a tree in that last bounce, it took my breath away and the rubber butt spell faded. That could have been it, except for the Muggles in the car." He let air slowly out: "They were furious, cursing each other and trying to figure out what the hell had been that they had almost hit. I was spying them through a hole in the wood palisade surrounding the vacant lot. They had finally agreed that I was some sort of animal. One of them growled that I was an effing stupid animal that had ruined his car. That one pulled something out from the car's glove compartment. Dad has always been fascinated by Muggle stuff, he has these Ian Fleming paperbacks about the adventures of some Muggle called James Bond. I had seen the contraption in the bright gaudy covers that had ladies in scant dresses sitting on or leaning against giant golden versions of it. I knew what the thing was: it was a gun…"

Ginny was looking at her brother wide eyed, she put a hand protectively over her swollen belly.

Harry was breathing shallowly, his hands curled up in fists on their own accord. His go-to was rage. It had serviced him well in the past, he'd used it as both cattle prod to keep him going and as a twisted refuge. Inside righteous anger he felt relatively safe.

Hermione blurted out: "Well now that's Freudian!" She blabbered when she was nervous. She could go on and on, expounding the director commentary of the horrible acts required to create a horcrux, for example. But she wanted to be there, attention undivided, for her husband. She covered up her mouth with both hands to cut off the babble.

Ron didn't seem to have listened to her: "Even if I had never seen that Muggle weapon before, the man looked so menacing that he made me take a backwards step. I hit something, but before I could turn around and see what I had hit, a plump hand covered my mouth. I tried to scream but the hand pressed harder, I could barely breathe. I started trashing around."

Hermione gasped looking at him horrified. It was nothing but a flicker a break in the mask of still calm she had tried to put on her face in place of the verbosity. It didn't work. Ron caught it.

Ron gulped. He had seen his wife facing dead calmly plenty of times. That look was not one he ever wanted to see in her face, the least of all over him. His coping mechanism was either humor or just letting it slide. He did that last one, let it slide, saving it up for later, when they were alone.

"Then someone whispered in my ear that I had to be quiet. Through the fog of numbing fear I recognized mum's voice. She had apparated behind me. She was getting ready to disapparate with me when one of the Muggles said that whatever it was had gone into the vacant lot. The one with the gun jumped over the fence and I lost it. I ran. Something hit me in the back and I began shrinking. I grew fur and whiskers. Mum had turned me into a mouse. She had turned herself into a mouse too and caught up with me running on her four paws. Without stopping she pointed with her round pink nose towards what seemed to be a cave. We ran towards it. It was a boot. It smelled really bad, the leather was wet and rotting from being outside. We cowered inside it while above us, barely missing us, sounded the thunderclap of the Muggles' steps. The Muggle with the gun said in a bellow that he was sure he had seen something pass him by with the corner of his eye. I pressed myself against mum and closed my eyes tight. All I could hear were the Muggles and her heart beating against her rib cage." He looked downwards, fixing his eyes on the grain of the dining table. When he spoke his voice was barely above a murmur: "I think that her fear was what scared me the most. You know mum, she can be frightening sometimes, but I'd never seen her being afraid of anything before. Molly Weasley is fearless, you get that from her, Ginny. I've only seen mum that way again when she faced the boggart who showed all of us dead. That is her worst fear, losing one of us, and I almost did that to her..."

Ginny teared up. Grumbling she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand: "Blooming hormones." Explaining her moment of weakness away. Yeah, right, blame it on the pregnancy.

Harry wasn't sure using obvious euphemisms was better than outright cussing. In fact he had learned with Tom Riddle that hiding behind words could be worse. But his eyes were glistening too, so he unclenched his fists, walking away from his fortress of rage, and held his wife's hand tightly. He found it hard, seeking and giving comfort even after so many years after the war, but he was getting there.

Ron continued the exposition undeterred by the waves he was creating inside his friends and himself: "One of the Muggles shouted to the guy with the gun: _John, there is nothing here. If there was anything to begin with, it's gone._ The name John sounded so normal... It was hard to believe that awful Muggle was called such a common name. And then he fired the gun. The bastard shot straight into the air, but it really startled me. I dunno if it was 'cause I had these tiny, tiny mouse ears or 'cause I was on edge; but the explosion sounded unmerlingly big... I couldn't help peeing myself. I was shaking so badly that I could barely stood up. If I hadn't had four paws at the time, I would have probably fallen over."

Hermione was looking at him bewildered and began trembling herself, the mask breaking completely. She couldn't stand it, she turned her back on then until she was able to get a hold of herself.

"John shouted he was not crazy that he knew he had seen something. If you ask me, that bloody Muggle sounded plenty crazy. The whole neighborhood seemed to have gone bonkers. Dogs were barking. Lights began to turn on in the windows. And in the distance a Muggle Auror siren was wailing approaching the vacant lot. One guy grabbed John by the shoulder and managed to convince him to leave. When they were gone, Mum nuzzled me with her snout until I stopped trembling. Then she disapparated us home and transmuted us back to human as soon as we were in our kitchen."

Ginny sniffled: "That's my mum! Not many witches can disapparate wandless, let alone while transmuted. But that's just how good Molly Weasley is."

Harry smiled too, the better future that had once been a carrot he chased behind was finally becoming a reality. He could finally let go of some of the anger: "Molly Weasley, grandma extraordinaire, vanquisher of bitch Lestrange."

Ginny was back on track focusing on minutia: "Even if Lestrange was one sorry b-word, try not to cuss love, mind the baby…"

Ron nodded with a small smile. He could read his friends like a book. He knew how troublesome this was for each of them and how hard they were trying not to let it show. He steadied himself too and carried on. He needed to convey to all of them that the dangers imposed by the Statute of Secrecy were not back in the past. They were here, they were now and they needed to be addressed. Leave it to bloody Dumbledore to push this on him, when he wasn't ready for it yet. But wasn't that always the case with that guy? Ron was definitely putting that one on the man's tab too.

Thinking that there is no better time than the present Ron pushed forward: "The need to protect our young is something we all share…" Then he thought about what they had just read in Dumbledore's diary and about Harry's Muggle family and sighed: "At least most of us do…" And then he continued: "I thought that Fred and George were gonna make fun of me for peeing my pants, but they didn't. They had been worried sick, waiting for us in the kitchen. I think part of it was 'cause they thought mum was gonna punish them. But part of it was they were truly scared. They were only six, but I've never seen them being anything but funny and carefree. That dawn they were like kids exchanged for changelings. Fred in particular was dead serious as he looked bewildered at the clock on the wall. The hands that depicted me and mum were slowly moving from mortal danger back into home. That is when it hit me, we could have died in that field. That made me cry. Fred cried too and George followed swift."

They all gulped holding onto their coping mechanisms for dear life. Demons pounding on the door.

"Mum was positively wailing, kissing us, hugging us and touching us as if she needed tactile reassurance that we were really OK. She never did punish the twins or me for what we did, she said we had already been punished enough, but that if we ever did anything so stupid ever again, she was going to hang our hides from the ceiling. None of us wanted to repeat the experience of a close call with the Muggles, so she didn't have to. I honestly felt like I never wanted to see another Muggle again in my life." He scoffed: "I have a word to describe a mother who accuses her ten year old of orphaning his brother and sister while she slept the draught away. It ain't a pretty word, though, and my mum told me that if you don't have anything nice to say, sometimes is best to say nuthin' at all."

Hermione had tears running down her cheeks, but tried to speak steadily: "You must have been terrified of Muggles. Your whole family must have been. And yet you married a Muggle born with Muggle parents."

Ron looked at her: "Luv, I may not look it a lot of the times, but I'm not four anymore. You are one of us and your parents are good folks. Being good people is all that matters in the end. And there are good and bad folks on both sides of the fence. Some wizards and some Muggles are shits, most of us aren't; or we would have already blown up the world."

Hermione nodded beaming proudly at her husband; the fact that his philosophy was on the down to earth side, did not preclude it from being right: "You were telling us about what had happened."

He sighed deeply: "Yes, I was…We were still crying huddled against each other when dad and our older brothers found us. Mum must have sent word to dad somehow, before going out to get me. They threw the fishing gear carelessly in the hall, though it was brand new. Dad was so pale that his redhead looked like a clown's wig. We all embraced each other again and in the end we were all crying like crazy, rocking back and forth… Even Charlie, who likes to think he is so macho, cried like a baby..."

Harry was looking at him, waves of the anger he felt at what his friend had gone through still crashing against his mental shore: "Mate, you never told us any of this."

Ron smiled weakly unable to joke about it at the moment: "I've never told anyone, mate. But it does feel like the wound has been drained now that I have… I wish we had thought about that back then. We went through the day glad of being together and, while I was surrounded by my family in broad daylight, I was OK. The trouble came visit me when I was alone in my bed laying in the dark. When I finally managed to fall asleep it jumped on me in the shape of horrible nightmares. I woke everyone screaming like a banshee."

Hermione turned to spurting facts, another useful tool in her bag of tricks for not connecting with certain emotions. She said: "Nightmares are normal after trauma like that..." And stopped short from quoting statistics of it.

"That's what mum told dad. She also said that I just needed time, but she was wrong about that last part. It didn't get better, it got worse. It got so bad that they had to take me to St. Mungo, they couldn't explain all that had happened because my mum was not a registered animagus and, even if she did it to save our lives, transmuting into a mouse right in front of Muggles might have gotten her into big trouble. Maybe Dumbledore was up to something about that thing he said of honoring the spirit rather than the letter of the law and erring on the side of compassion."

Hermione smiled: "Well at least you see that he was right about some things."

He scoffed: "Only about some things…" He carried on: "There are some very good healers at St. Mungo, but the arse that treated me for the nightmares wasn't. He made mum feel like she was an incompetent mother for not looking over me twenty four seven. I almost wished he had been out there in the field with his own child; to see how well he fared-up in mum's place. She managed to protect us both without hurting anyone or breaching the Statute of Secrecy. You are right, our kids are gonna have one heck of a grandma."

Ginny chided: "Language, Ron Weasley."

"The healer basically said I was just acting out, seeking attention. He gave me sleeping draughts and told mum not to worry so much about me. The dickhead even made a joke about me bouncing back. He was the only one who laughed."

Ginny huffed: "Sweet Merlin! He was what you said but I'm sure there is a better way of saying it."

"Nope, dickhead is already a concession to politeness, sis. A big concession." His smile almost real.

"This is a lost battle, I'm gonna use a cuss jar, we will either learn not to cuss or we will be able to buy something nice for the baby."

Ron sniggered: "Just tell me how much my share comes to, sis. I'll pay it up front. And just so you know, saying Merlin this and Merlin that is cussing too." He stretched his neck and moved his shoulders, trying to release some tension and continued: "The potions didn't help, the nightmares began to spill out into the day. I began having panic attacks for no reason. I became a little zombie who clung to his mum's skirts; too afraid of going anywhere without her."

Ginny swung her head: "How come I don't remember any of it?"

"You were still crapping your nappies, sis."

"I'd put that one on your tab too, Ron."

Hermione frowned: "What you are describing, my love, weren't nightmares, what you are describing are night terrors. Sleeping draughts would only sweep them under the rug. I know it's hard to believe, but Muggles are better at handling some ailments, especially some of the mind and Wizards are better at handling other ailments, especially of the body. If we managed to be able to live with each other peacefully, without hiding, we would both gain from it."

Leave it to the wife to push her political agenda while he was pouring his guts out. Ron said: "I don't want to live in fear, Hermione. I don' want our kids to live in fear. I wish things were different. I really do. How do you think I feel knowing that I crushed my dad's dreams just 'cause he wanted me to be safe and happy?"

Hermione climbed down from the high horse: "What you mean you crushed your father's dreams?"

"One night I was sick and tired of waking up screaming, I decided just to stop sleeping altogether. I was up and I heard mum and dad fighting."

"Those two are feisty, bro. They are always going on about something." said Ginny trying to minimize it. Minimal she could handle, mayor made her feel like she did when she was using Riddle's diary.

Ron nodded: "They are, they have arguments and are passionate about a lot of things, but I had never heard them fighting like I heard them fight that night. That was real fighting, Ginny even I at four could tell the difference. Merlin be blessed that I've never heard them fight like that since. Dad was saying that they shouldn't give me the draughts. He said that they weren't working. Mum asked what he'd rather do instead. Dad said he didn't know but that the potions were only turning me into an Inferi. Then she started crying and said that he blamed her. He denied, he said that it was no one's fault. Then mum sounded really angry and said the bloody Muggle who'd tried to kill their son was responsible for some of it. Dad protested that the Muggle didn't seem to know what he was looking for. He said that she was making it sound like the witch hunts in the 17th century and it was not like that at all. Then Mum retorted calling him by his full name that it hadn't been dad in that field trembling inside of a boot. Dad said that he'd wish it had been him there; that the thought of losing either or us was more than he could bear. They were silent for a while after that. Finally mum said they should go to sleep. But there was an…" He struggled for the word: "An undercurrent, as if what they were discussing was something more than just the words they were saying."

Hermione protested: "You were so little, there are probably a whole lot of things you didn't understand about that conversation. What happened was not your fault either."

"I'm telling it now as if I had gotten all of it in one piece back then. But a lot of it comes from odd bits and pieces that I only remembered later. Back then pretty much all I was able to glean out of the conversation was that my mum and dad were fighting, really fighting, over me. I felt awful, but I also felt very tired so without quite knowing how, I fell asleep in front of their bedroom. I vaguely remember dad carrying me back to my own bed at some point in the evening. I was slipping back to drowsiness, thinking that perhaps I was going to manage to sleep all night; when the nightmare came to me with a vengeance. I screamed and screamed and once more woke everyone up. The very next day dad quit his job in Mysteries. He transferred to Misuse of Muggle Artifacts where he had fixed hours and a schedule. And could be at home with us in the afternoons. When he told mum she said they needed to talk and made us go to our rooms. Of course we didn't obey, we stayed to spy on them and heard as dad explained that he wanted only the best for all of us. He said something about us being as strong as the weakest link. I figured out that meant me. I thought they were going to fight again, but they didn't. In fact mum sounded relieved."

Ginny said: "I can't say I blame her. If something like that happened to me…" she caressed her belly worriedly. What would she do, indeed, if it happened to her? Were things different now?

"They started looking for a new place out of London and just a couple of weeks later we moved to the Burrow. The first night we stayed there was a Saturday, the sun had just gone down when dad said he was talking me out for a walk. He walked purposefully though he didn't tell me where we were going. At first we walked with Ottery St. Catchpole laying quietly in the distance besides us. There was a boy flying a broom over the church's steeple, someone, presumably his mum, shouted at him to come right back down. The boy was called John too. I held my breath, but that was it, nothing awful happened. Dad just laughed, said boys will be boys and for the first time in what felt like ages, I smiled."

Hermione held his hand trying to pass on some comfort and drawing a measure of it from him too. He was there, he had survived this and a whole lot of things, this horror, another notch in a bevy of horrors in both their pasts was there: in the past. That is what she told herself to reassure herself.

"When I got tired he carried me piggy back; we walked and walked and walked, past fields and fields of wheat, past a small forest where the trees had bowtruckles swinging playfully in the branches. He kept walking, carrying me on his back into the night. The moon climbed up the sky and it was near the center of it when we reached a small lake, almost a pond, but big enough to have hippocampus in it. The water horses were making waves by racing each other and we watched them until dad said we should head back. We walked back, alternating him carrying me, with me walking on my own. On the last leg of the road, I was falling asleep against his back. We arrived back home when the sun was coming up. By the first rays of the dawn I saw our house, Ginny, right in the middle of nowhere, with gnomes going back inside their lairs and a lazy doxy chewing on one of mum's new drapes, which was flapping like a flag from one of the second story windows. We had barely spoken all the way. But as he opened the door to let us in, dad said to me that we had walked miles without encountering anyone, Muggle or Wizard. And I understood the purpose of our walk. I felt safe. That Sunday I slept until it was time to eat lunch. I ate heartedly, first times in weeks too, then I went right back to bed and slept till Monday."

Ginny frowned: "I just cannot believe I knew nothing of this."

"I didn't remember it either. I buried it deep within until I was eleven and Bill brought it up. That is why when I went to Hogwarts I was a man on a mission. I had to make it count. I had to prove to my dad and myself that I was not a complete waste of space."

"My love, you had nothing to prove, but if that were the case you passed with flying colors. Saving the world from a dark wizard makes you the opposite of a waste of space."

"I was mostly a sidekick. But that is fine by me, luv." He scratched his beard: "I've been trying to find the right time to say this. I'm not sure this is it. But it has been in my mind Ginny, ever since you told us about the baby and I don't think there is ever going to be a perfect moment to say it. Our moments tend to be perfect in their imperfection..." He sighed: "Here goes nothing: I'm not saying is what things should be, but it is what it is and wizarding kids need more supervision than regular kids, they need a witch or wizard minding them. There is no escaping it."

Ginny moaned: "Not you too, bro! I thought you were on my side!"

"I am on your side, sis. I'm not saying it has to be you, Ginny." Harry was looking at him with a cocked eyebrow some of the bitter anger spilling out: "Or you, mate…"

Hermione stared at him intently: "Then what exactly are you saying, my love?"

He smiled: "I'm saying that the wizard who watches over our kids could be me."

Ginny, Harry and Hermione started talking all at the same time.

Ron stopped them with one hand gesture: "Think of it: I'm basically my own boss, which means flexible hours. I already do a lot of the work home which means the kids don't have to move around. And when I do need to be at the office, mum will be happy to take over. And if she can't, then I can take your elf Winky with me to look after the wee ones while I watch the watcher. That way all of you can carry on doing what you are doing, without having to worry about something like what happened to Ariana or me happening to our kids. I've never really felt comfortable in London. The shop is going great and wizarding properties near Ottery St. Catchpole are not expensive…"

Hermione had been about to protest.

Ron didn't let her: "We could keep the flat if you have to stay late during the week, luv. But I think that you can use the Floo Network to commute. And when you need to relax, having a home away from London can be a plus. Mum and Dad will be near too. It won't be too long before dad retires and the kids will have their grandma and grandpa around. Your parents travel a lot, luv, but when they are here it is only a short trip away. The kids can have their grandparents, their uncles, aunts and cousins around. They can be in a place where wizards and witches outnumber the few Muggles there are four to one. They'll have woods and ponds and fields filled with magical creatures. And the few Muggles that are in town will be tolerant, open folks that will teach them to live with them in peace. You don't have to do this on your own, Ginny. I mean, it takes a village… Why can't I be the village mayor?"

Ginny whistled: "You really have thought about this."

Ron shrugged: "As I said, it's been on my mind for a while."

Hermione gasped, it finally dawned on her: "Is that why you quit the Aurors?"

He sighed: "Is not the only reason."

"But it is one of the reasons. You've never wanted to talk about it. You built high walls around the topic. And now you tell me that it is the bloody chess game all over again?! Offering yourself like a sacrifice. I don't think it is fair for you to give up your dreams for the rest of us!"

He chuckled: "Since I've been blabbering about myself… I might as well... Ever since I was a little kid watching Grandpa Madoc brag about his time in the Aurors, I wanted to be one."

Hermione moaned.

"Wait love, let me finish before you tirade again. But as it is usually the case with little kids, I had no idea about what that really entailed. For example, I didn't know Grandpa Madoc was a communications specialist as he liked to say. That amounts to the guy who contacts Aurors through scrying or Floo networking and sends them to their assignments. It is a pencil pusher job. But being there, in the front line you see things. I thought I would be OK with it, since we had already seen so much while we fought Lord Voldermort. But I think that I had my fill of seeing the dregs of the world. I can do without. I've seen enough to shake my faith on humanity, Muggle and Wizarding alike. I think I've earned myself an early retirement from that."

"But you seemed so happy to be there."

"Sometimes I was. But sometimes I felt like it was ripping my soul apart. And that is not a good feeling. Not for what you do for your livelihood it isn't. Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes is a place where I feel comfortable. I like the job, I like the people I work with and turns out I have a mind for business. George can focus on the creative part which is what he loves. And now we have finally been able to expand and buy Zonko's the sky is the limit. I am happy. And I'll be even happier, if I'm able to make our kids safe while you pursue your bliss too. Sacrifices in chess like in life have to be thought up to maximize wins, no loses."

Harry was shaking his head unbelieving; the logistic of what they were going to do after the baby was born was something Gin and he had gone over and over: "Mate I don't know what to say!"

"Mate, you don't have to say anything. Ginny is my baby sister, you are like a brother to me. This is maximizing the win. You are bloody Harry Potter and my wife is bloody Hermione Granger…"

"I won't put those on your tab, bro."

He smiled: "Thanks, sis. You are a princes: Ginevra of the high hill… If somebody is going to be able to make things change for the better those people are you two. No offense Ginny, but we are sidecar. Harry is a public figure that can sway opinion and is the most honest, straitlaced guy I know. Luv, with you the sky is really the limit. I have no doubt that one day you are going to run the Wizard Ministry and probably the Muggle one too."

Hermione chuckled and she meant most of it.

"So if I can contribute to that in my modest way, then I'm good. Besides this is not a blank check. You have the power to make things change. To me this is as binding as an unbreakable vow, you have to make everything within your power to guarantee that when our kids are all grown up, they won't be faced with the choice they grandfather made...quitting their dreams to keep their family safe."

Hermione sighed deeply, drawing closer to him: "Ronald Bilius Weasley, I've fancied you ever since I saw you sitting on Hogwarts express with that sooth spot on your nose. I've loved you a whole lot of ways over the years, but I don't think that I've ever loved you more than I do right now. Don't ever dare imply that my husband could be a waste of space. You are a bloody hero on your own right, never forget it. And I don't need a spell to promise this to you: I'll do everything in my power to make things change, not only because it is the right thing to do, but because now I have an obligation to do it for you and there is no fucking way in heaven or hell that I'd break that promise."

Ginny said softly: "I'm not going to put that on your cuss jar tab either."

They weren't listening, they were kissing. The kiss deepened and Ron swept Hermione off her feet and carried her to their bedroom. A loud thud sounded from within and the door closed sharply.

Harry looked at the door bewildered: "What did just happen?"

"I think he tossed her on Grandma's Lavinia four-poster bed." There was a louder crack: "And I think that was Grandma's Lavinia four-poster bed cracking."

A muffled _Reparo_ was followed by a train of giggles.

"Wow, wow, I'm not asking for the game commentary, Gin. I mean, did those two forget we are here?"

Ginny giggled: "I think that is a safe bet."

More loud noises were coming from the bedroom and when something intelligible about a Berkley horse was followed by Ron's boisterous laugh and something about lessons being taught. Harry said mortified: "Merlin's beard! We have to leave, we have to leave right now."

Ginny nodded: "Agreed, but the Floo network is password protected. Hermione changes them monthly and always chooses these long unpronounceable words that I'm unable to memorize. Do you remember what this month's password is, luv?"

Harry moaned in cannon with the moans coming from the bedroom: "No I don't. What about we just disapparate, Gin. The healer said it was OK until the last trimester."

Ginny frowned: "I know it's all probably old-witch tales but you hear awful things about the baby ending up somewhere and the mother ending up elsewhere… Just thinking about it scrambles my brain…I can ride a broom. The healer said it was OK too."

Harry scoffed: "Gin, she said it was OK as long as you rode it not too energetically. I've never seen you ride a broom that way. Tell you what, let us take a first step towards Muggle- Wizarding integration, we'll hail a cab."

They did. Hermione and Ron didn't notice they were gone until the next day.


	11. Onomasticon

Chapter 11 Onomasticon

"_The seagulls by their looks suggest that Emma is their name...O human, you will never fly the way the seagulls do; but if your name is Emma, why, be glad they look like you.__" Christian Morgenstern The Seagulls in Galgenlieder (Gallows Songs- 1905)._

_AN: I'm saving you a trip to the dictionary as I'm aware not everybody enjoys them as much as I do. As a child I called them trips as they were little adventures that started by pulling Ariadne's yarn of words. I followed it through a labyrinth of associated terms that opened new windows from which to look at the world. Onomasticon means lexicon, which is a collection of names, usually in a specialized field or a list of toponyms and proper names with their etymology. A very well-known example is the Egyptian Onomasticon of Amenope, which contains listings of so wide rangin__g__ topics as beverages, pharaoh__s__, household pets and heavenly objects. For once upon a time words were thought to hold great power and listing them was to some an act of worship._

_Thank you so much for reviews. PhoenixAureum, is it the vocative or the accusative? I lean towards the latter for it's telic (makes it whole). Either way, love the handle. My thanks are belated, but it is always good to know someone is enjoying the fic. Celeste D. Lilica thanks for your very well thought out review. I always thank those who take the time to read me, if additionally they are gracious enough to give me constructive criticism -as yours definitely is- I am ever more grateful. I think you've hit the jackpot by identifying the guys' reactions are disproportionate, it is intentional. I don't want to reveal too much, but I'm building up my case that these guys are war veterans who, to boot, were raised in a ghetto; and for that they are suffering from an affect disorder resultant of PTS (post-traumatic stress). _

_I am convinced using the right word, one that neither glamorize__s__ nor denies__ reality,__ helps us reclaim our power. __I applauded Albus for always calling the psycho Tom Riddle. It is in the same spirit that I say the guys grew up in a ghetto. For me that is the best word to describe a place in which a birth trait excludes you from full integration to society. I think it is the best word to describe a place in which children can be badly hurt by the neighbors just for being different and in which teens skive school to fight rival gangs to the death and people take it in stride. I think that is the fair name for a place in which murderous gangs use tattoos to identify their allegiances and use recognizable marks to elicit fear. I also think that ghetto describes well a place which is under siege while the government denies any problem to keep their hold on power. It is also a fair way to describe a place in which the authorities are overworked and understaffed to respond when people are being killed left and right. I think all that describes the Wizarding World these guys' grew in. I think that leaves its mark on you. I hope I have managed to make them sound slightly off kilter and not raving lunatic. They are strong, crafty people, after all. They are coping, but merely coping, is no way to live._

_The best way to honor constructive criticism is to act upon it. I've made the coping mechanisms explicit in last chapter, and I'll work harder on making my intentions evident. __T__he full explanation is coming. Also, rest assured I intend to get these guys the professional help I think they need. I plan to introduce my Dr. Abraham Seward shortly, hope the name is not too much of a giveaway. I like my shrinks to be well read and have a sense of humor, never had one who uses a pseudonym, though. But Bram (we are on a first name basis) has especial circumstances that warrant the exception. Being serious now, veterans should have support integrating back to civil life. My take is they have earned it._

_A friend of mine pointed me towards this delightful, rather nonsensical poem_ _by_ _Christian Morgenstern__ and I couldn't resist using it. I, like Albus, think some nonsense lightens up life, which is at times sorely needed_. _Glad to know someone else is enjoying the quotes. This chapter is once more too big so I have divided it in two. Thank you all readers for your time._

Elphias, we have been friends for more years than I can count and I'd trust you with my life without hesitation. As I leave you these diaries, I have no doubt of your unwavering loyalty and your prudence in handling their content. However, I feel obliged to warn you about the nature of some parts of them. I started writing them at Gellert's behest with the goal of using them to verify that we weren't unduly affecting the timeline. And as such they are on the whole a documentary exposition of our exploits in that quest, with some exceptions that I should now call to your attention.

Once I was committed to the cause of bringing down the Statue of Secrecy, I applied my perfectionism to the task of writing the diaries in thoroughness. But, even if that remained the main purpose of them, over time they also came to serve other purposes. Gellert and I shared these diaries. We put our hopes and dreams in them too. They were a way of saying things that were at times hard to say out loud, even for those who like us came to be so very close. When we were back to our normal time, we often exchanged them and read them separately, that created an opportunity for making the diaries into a sort of private correspondence between us.

My friend, sorry for what may seem to you as a roundabout, but I really don't know how to broach the subject delicately, so I will stop trying. Pardon my bluntness: we were young, passionate men falling in love. Our natures decreed that ours was an intense relationship and the diaries also were… I guess you could say that they were a device in the game of seduction we were both playing. They added a layer to the game. Hence, part of their content you may find to be inappropriate, as they weren't intended to be read by anyone but ourselves. That being the case, I think it best to forewarn you. And when the nature of a passage may be troublesome. I'll do so by putting the heading of: Hic sunt dracones, here there be dragons to give you the chance to...

* * *

Ron stopped Hermione: "Stop right there luv. I have absolutely no interest in reading about the game of seduction those two were playing. The diaries are bad enough as it is, if he is going to get more descriptive, I want no part of it. I keep telling you: we should just burn the whole lot of it. Honestly, people should learn to keep their bloody dragons to themselves."

Ginny scoffed: "Like you are one to talk after what you did to us yesterday. We were right here while you two were cracking Grandma Lavinia's bed! We had to take a cab home because we couldn't remember the Floo Network password."

Hermione was blushing violently: "It is Puffskein's tongue. I'm trying to keep it simple now that you two are coming here more frequently. I sent Harry an owl with a bewitched parchment only he could unlock about a week ago."

Harry nodded apologetically: "I remember now that you did." He went through a pouch hanging from his hip: "Yes, I even have your note here. I was a bit shaken both by Ron's story and about you two… I should have remembered, I'm sorry."

Hermione said mortified: "I'm sorry you had trouble getting back home, we were terrible hosts..."

"It's OK, the cab ride was actually fun. We didn't very well know what to do and the Muggle driver thought we were tourists, he kept pointing out places of interest. Next time send me the parchment, with his Auror certification Harry has been a bit distracted."

Hermione said: "I'll do better: I'm casting a Protean charm like the one I did on the Dumbledore's Army coins so we can all have easy access to the password safely."

Ron scoffed: "I would have liked that you did it before, some of those words you came up with were hell to memorize."

"I saw you read some from a parchment, bro. That kinda defeats the purpose of having a password"

"You are a snitch, sis. And I protected the parchment with a spell. I'm not stupid."

"My point is that you, brother, have no business getting on a high horse about keeping your dragons to yourself. I want to say something else: don't speak for me about not wanting to read about the game those two were playing." She smiled wickedly: "Color me intrigued. I take after my other brother Charlie, I really like them dragons. I want to read it."

Harry looked at her: "Gin!"

"I don't need to justify myself to anyone, not even you Harry Potter. Besides, it won't be the first time I read something of the sort. Parvati used to write her own take of _The Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle_ and some of it was… well it was pretty damn hot. She was good, very descriptive. Sometimes Lavander Brown did drawings."

Ron denied: "Nah, I won't believe it! Are you telling us that Parvati, our Parvati Patil wrote filth about _Martin Miggs_? And Lavander Brown illustrated it?"

Hermione protested: "The stories weren't filth. They were really sweet, _Martin Miggs_ and _Sai Laghari_ were star-crossed lovers. It was heartbreaking every time that _Sai_ had to oblivate _Martin_ at the end of the story. _Sai_ used to hold _Martin's _head and kissed him saying: _good night, my love, you won't remember me in the morning, but I will. _I loved that part."

Ginny nodded squeezing both Hermione's hands as if they were making an unbreakable vow: "Me too, it was the absolute best part, that and how _Sai _always managed to be there wand on the ready when _Martin_ needed him."

Hermione squeezed her hands back and said: "Yes, he always arrived just on time like a knight in shining armor. How could _Martin_ help but fall in love with _Sai_ time and time again? I always hoped that they would somehow get together forever in the end."

Ron scoffed: "Thank you, you've managed what Lord Voldemort couldn't. You just killed my childhood. _Marting Miggs_ was my favorite comic. And that _Sai_ guy was only mentioned in passing during the travel to India arch."

Hermione let Ginny go: "Oh quit being so dramatic! Parvati's stories did not follow the comic precisely, but they were good and hot, very hot."

Ron blinked: "Did all Gryffindor girls read them?"

Chin up Hermione replied: "You boys weren't the only ones passing reading material around. And people in all houses read them. There was even a list for passing them around orderly. I came up with it because people were fighting over who got to read them first and Parvati wanted to limit the number of duplicates, so we protected them from _Geminio_. There were a couple of guys in the list too. Parvati is about to publish her first novel _Hold onto My Wand. _It is an historic romance, a preview was published in the Daily Prophet and I intend to buy it."

"Merlin's bloody beard! _Hold onto My_… And the characters on that one are also guys?"

Ginny chuckled meanly: "Yeah, they are both guys. Grow up, Ron. And there is a waiting list for Parvati's novel that goes around the block too. Parvati let everyone read her stories at school for free, well, almost. After the first house cup results were announced, she charged the Slytherins and those tightwads forked up, that is how good her stories were. Rita already has the article singing the praises of her book and that woman has the nose of a bloodhound, she wouldn't bet on a stinker. Parvati is going to be a guaranteed success."

"Well, that's good for her. But it doesn't change how I feel about reading Dumbledore's wet dreams."

Hermione pointed out: "I think that if we start skimming through the diaries, we might miss important information."

Ginny grinned: "And I just want to read it, so that makes two of us against one."

"So that's it? You two are going to railroad us into reading about Dumbledore and Grindelwald bumping the uglies?" Ron turned to face Harry: "Are you OK with this, mate?"

The three of them were looking at him. Harry sighed: "I'm with Ron here." Before Ginny and Hermione could protest he clarified: "I don't care about them being guys. Frankly I don't want to read about anyone doing it. I think some things are private. I wouldn't want people going through our letters, Gin." He blushed: "Not that I'd ever write you that kind of thing. And it really is not anyone's business what I write to my wife."

Harry wrote notes for Ginny on the bathroom mirror or left them sticking to her tea mug in the mornings. No one could find fault with them, save perhaps, if they thought them too corny. Ginny smiled: "I love your little notes and you are right, they are nobody's business. So what do we do now? We seem to be tied here."

Harry chuckled: "You didn't let me finish. I was going to say that I don't want to read about it, but I have no problem with you two reading whatever you want. So why don't we do this: when the diaries get… hot, Ron and I will go outside, have a mull mead in the front yard, and when you two are done reading that part, you can call us back. You can catch us up on any important information. I think that will make everyone happy, don't you?"

Ginny nodded: "That's my husband: the peace maker. It sounds perfect, my dear!"

"It is a very good compromise solution," nodded Hermione.

Ron smiled patting his friend on the back: "It'll give us the chance to catch up, mate."

* * *

That being the case, I think it best to forewarn you. And when the nature of a passage may be troublesome. I'll do so by putting the heading of: _Hic sunt dracones,_ here there be dragons, and the note _Et abi__ē__runt dracones,_ dragons begone, at the ending to give you the chance to skip it altogether.

I'll also advice if some part of it is instrumental for the understanding of later developments and will try to address it in my notes so it is easier to pursue these diaries without offending your sensibilities, Elphias.

* * *

Hermione smiled: "See? That is just how considerate the man was."

"Yeah right, I wouldn't use the word considerate to describe that crackpot. But, since the important information is in notes, we could skim right through the uglies without worries, luv. That takes care of your objections, why don't you come to our side and then we will be three to one?"

"As Ginny said, I don't have to justify myself to anyone." And she carried on reading.

* * *

The next day we resumed our wand training. I had feared that after my confession we might feel awkward about returning to the scene of the crime, so to speak, but, on the contrary, I felt closer to Gellert than we had been before. Not that said bonhomie prevented him or me from undertaking the training with the uttermost seriousness. We knew our lives were at stake.

I was getting the hang of commanding loyalty from another's person wand. I was using an Ash and dragon heartstring and I managed to get a strike on my second try. He kissed me. I hadn't thought we were still going to do that. It caught me by surprise. I'm not quite sure how I ended up tangling my fingers in his hair, pulling him closer and not letting him go. The kiss deepened and he grabbed my posterior with both hands, pushing me even closer to him. I found myself in a rather compromising situation, pressing urgently against his tight. I should have pulled away, but I didn't.

When my hands moved down from his hair, trailing the sinews of his back, he grabbed me by the shoulders and gently but firmly broke off the kiss. Both his eyes had turned to a stormy gray in despite of still being under the effects of the Polyjuice Potion. He muttered under his breath: "Albus, unless you are willing to follow through, we need to stop right now. There are limits to my willingness and my ability to safeguard your innocence. I've been accused of being many things, a saint is not one of them." I was as if possessed, I made as if to approach him. He took a couple of backward steps: "Let us keep our distance for the moment, right now I can't vouch for my self-restraint, not even with you looking like that."

It felt like waking up from a trance. I realized I was still wearing the bellboys' looks and that, nevertheless, I was not the only one compromised. I turned my back on him, ashamed: "Sweet Merlin! I'm deeply sorry Gellert. I don't know what came over me."

He chuckled: "I do. It came over me too, which is precisely why we needed to stop... Or move forward… We can undo the effects of the Polyjuice Potion fairly easily. We have enough hair to redo it later. Are you willing to move forward, Albus?"

* * *

"Does anyone else think the dragon flag thingy should be around here somewhere?"

Ginny shushed him.

* * *

I gulped loudly: "I don't think I'm ready for moving forward, Gellert."

He nodded, crossing his hands in front of him, covering himself: "I can't hide my disappointment, but I'll uphold my earlier say that I won't force you to do anything you don't want, Albus."

I turned three quarters to face him, but not completely: "I think my want is self-evident. The problem is not lack of want from either of us. But it does lie within me, I've never..."

He smiled: "I've surmised as much. I don't mean to intrude, my friend, but I've been wondering… Just exactly how inexperienced you are?"

I chuckled nervously: "Enough not to know how to answer your question."

"You already know I've had intimate friends before. I understand that you haven't been intimate in full with anyone, but hasn't there been someone in your life with whom you have shared a bond that goes beyond friendship before? Your Watson perhaps?"

I laughed: "My Watson would be horrified to hear this. He is not interested in men. I love Elphias like a brother; I'm also not interested in him that way. He is shyer than me and in all likelihood even less experienced. Not that we have ever discussed it. I've never discussed this with anyone else before. You are a first for me in many ways, my friend, and at times that is unnerving."

He sat on the grass and signaled me to do the same: "Then I take it that there was no one close to you that way, not even back at school?"

"Was there someone at school close to you that way, Gellert?"

He smiled crookedly: "I had an unspoken agreement with one of the older boys to provide relief to each other, but it was little more than a convenience, no sentiment whatsoever was involved, at least on my part. I never did ask or care about what he felt about it."

"That sounds rather awful."

"It was satisfactory after its own fashion. The guy was a bit of a brute, but a handsome brute and that can be engaging if you are of the right frame of mind. When I was indeed of the right frame of mind we got together, when I wasn't, it was easy to avoid him. Mind you, despite rumors of what goes on in all-boys schools, such conveniences were not encouraged. As a countermeasure, the student council arranged visits to nearby towns or engaged Veelas or Nymphs to tend to the needs of the students in the superior courses."

"Surely you jest! Your school permitted those arrangements?"

He chuckled: "They turned a blind eye to it. Just as I'm sure your co-ed school turns a blind eye to what goes on between older students, Albus. Your Hogwarts is also known as a fair hunting ground of good marriage material. With your good looks and social graces, I'm surprised you weren't targeted."

"I am well aware some of the girls and even some of the boys see securing a good match as one of the main objectives of attending Hogwarts. Thankfully, I managed to avoid being exhibited on the selling block thanks to my lack of personal fortune and my family's dreadful reputation. Given that, whatever social graces I have were not enough to tempt the matchmakers. Merlin be blessed. I find the practice deplorable. Speaking of which: Did you… with Nymphs or Veelas? No, forget it, don't ask unless you want an answer."

"I can answer you safely, no, I'd never profit from such arrangements. Nymphs and Veelas are also magical creatures oppressed by the Statute of Secrecy. They are perceived as less than human and no one raises a finger if they are misused by less than honorable peddlers of sin who profit from their need. I'm not into coercing or imposing, I find willing participants more appealing. Besides, I've never found it hard to find accommodating companions of both genders. You'd be surprised of how complaint some of the heiress of the best Austrian Wizarding families can be when they are hiding from prying eyes inside pantries or in wine cellars of their stately mansions during balls. And I did want an answer from you, which is why I asked if there had been someone especial for you at school or elsewhere."

I laughed: "You are a braggart, Gellert Grindelwald. And, might I add, not particularly chivalrous to your former playmates."

"I'm not bragging and chivalry seldom applies to affairs of purely physical nature involving demimondaine boys and girls. All players understood the nature of the game and neither them, nor I were expecting anything of it, but exactly what we got. In some ways you are a first for me too, Albus Dumbledore. And I agree that at times this newness can be discomfiting. I never sought to understand or cared for the motivations of my other playmates, never did care for their pleasures save as byproducts of mine. But, then again, I've never played a game like ours before. You are still not answering my question. If you want to end this discussion, just say so, for if a game this may be, I bid you we play it honorably."

"Fair enough. It won't take that long to cover the story of my inexperience in full. I am not even a little mundane, for me such affairs must involve some sentiment. When that hasn't been the case they have been rather shameful affairs. My first kiss, for example, was with a girl. She kissed me after the Winter Formal. Having just won my first transfiguration championship, I was compelled to attend the event escorting a lady. The girl I chose was a Ravenclaw in the transmutation team and it seemed simple enough to ask her to go with me. I was oblivious to the fact that the girl had feelings for me. I considered her a mere acquaintance. I wish I had been paying more attention to her. I was delivering her back to her dorm after the ball, we were at the door of the tower when she attacked me. I didn't know what to do. At some point she forced my mouth open and shoved her tongue inside. I couldn't help it. I gagged."

He gasped: "Oh Albus, you didn't!

I smiled sadly: "At first I tried to play dead, but that didn't deter her. I guess she was hoping to elicit some kind of reaction when she shoved her tongue in me quite forcefully. I didn't know how to pull away without hurting her feelings and, in my indecisiveness, I ended up doing just that. She kept wriggling her tongue, I honestly couldn't help gagging. Then she started crying, asking in between sobs why I hated her so much. I was at a loss as to what to say. I couldn't very well tell her the truth. We both know the consequences of being exposed as one with what most consider a deviant nature."

"We have discussed the topic before, I understand your reticence."

"I went for a minor truth and told her that I didn't have any feelings for her. That sent her into hysterics. Once more my life turned into a story paper serial. She accused me of cruelly toying with her and demanded to know what had been my purpose inviting her to the ball. Again I answered truthfully that I had no agenda for I had picked her randomly. She cried out she had never been so humiliated in her entire life and that she'd wish she were dead. How does one respond to something like that?"

"Albus, don't look at me. Story papers are not in my line. I'm not subscribed to Girl's Own, not even to Boy's Own. Other than faking you were having a crisis when you gagged, I cannot think of a way of defusing that situation."

"I feel somewhat better knowing the master tactician wouldn't have known what to do either."

"Here is a pointer, don't kiss girls you don't want to kiss."

"She didn't leave me room to maneuver. The girl kept getting louder and I was at the end of my rope. All I could think of at the time was to pretend that nothing had happened. I told her that it was late, she needed to go to her dorm and so did I. I left. She hated me ever since and began spreading rumors that I had rejected her because she was Muggle-born, which, of course, had nothing to do with it. She could have been a daughter of the sacred twenty-eight and, being a daughter, I still wouldn't have been able to return her affections. The people close to me didn't believe her, but some people did. I felt wretched for handling things so poorly. I decided to let her poison spreading slide and to keep a safe distance from people in general to guarantee the incident didn't happen again. That reinforced my reputation of being a supercilious prick and a pure blood zealot, but as long as it allowed me to keep people, especially girls, at arm's length that was fine by me."

"Better be despised than kissed. I bet Machiavelli didn't think of that."

"It is not funny, Gellert."

"Nothing good can come from hiding your nature. Let us hope one day we are able not to. And your story is somewhat humorous, it is also tragic, both for you and that poor girl. Unfortunately, my friend, humorous and tragic go well together. I feel your pain. Some of those Viennese debutantes were predators."

I scoffed: "You poor dear, I'm sure you suffered greatly."

"I survived and so did you. Is that it, my friend? You kept people at arm's length until our paths crossed?"

"Not quite. There was a boy… No, not really, at seventeen Farouk was more of a man than some older chaps I've met. We encountered each other while I was substituting Professor Dippet as Defense against the Dark Arts teacher. Professor Dippet's father had gotten ill unexpectedly by the end of the school year, the Board of Governors was hard pressed to find a replacement for such short period. I was the best student. And, due to being in a fast advancement program, I had already taken my N.E.W.T. examinations on the subject and obtained an Outstanding mark. I got that grade for all the N.E.W.T I took. I had completed the examinations for Transfiguration, Charms, Ancient Runes and Alchemy. I only planned to take three more tests in Muggle Studies, Care of Magical Creatures and Arithmancy. Most people were swoting in the library but I would only need to revise a few concepts for Arithmancy. I had time to spare. Not to mention, I always welcome some extra income. I'd covered some classes before, but substituting full time was unexpectedly pleasant. I did well. I saved enough money for going on a Grand Tour."

"I wouldn't have expected anything else from you. Did you have a Grand Tour?"

"No, my mum died before I could undertake it. I've managed to salvage some of the money I had spent in preparations and that covered mum's funeral arrangements as well as repairing our roof and fixing some things around the house, I suppose that is sort of a silver lining."

He looked at me darkly: "You are too much of an optimist, my friend."

"People in my circumstance cannot afford to be pessimistic. Going back to my story: One evening I was grading essays in Professor Dippet's office when this man popped out of the chimney and gave me the fright of my life. Farouk is a Wizarding Zoroastrian."

"Ah, that explains the fright. Even Godric Gryffindor is said to have been weary of them."

* * *

Hermione interrupted her reading: "I'm sorry, I'm not following it. Why would the man being a practitioner of a Persian religion be a cause for fearing him?"

Harry said: "Yes, I don't follow it either."

Ginny and Ron exchanged a look. It was Ron who explained: "Wizarding Zoroastrians are seen as wackos and heretics," He was quick to add: "Not by us, dad taught us to respect all wizarding creeds no matter how weird they are. Zoroastrian wizards think magic is not light or dark. They say all that matters is balance and that balance calls for the existence of both good and evil. Though these guys don't call it that way, they call it creation and destruction, they claim that nature is not moral. They are very keen on the true nature of things and claim to be the keepers of the original language. I have to admit that, if you manage to pronounce them, their incantations create powerful spells, almost scary powerful. Bill once did one of their summons and he managed to make a swarm of chizpurfles appear. Those are nasty bugs that live in the feathers of some magical creatures and love to eat magic and Muggle electricity. Mum and Dad were barely able to find a way of getting rid of them before they ate through their wands I think that if Bill had cast the summoning knowingly, the bugs would have destroyed anything magical in the Burrow before anyone could be able to stop them. I've only seen them angrier when Fred tried to make me do an unbreakable vow. The only thing that saved Bill was he hadn't mean it to happen."

Ginny nodded: "That one I do remember, Bill wasn't even trying to summon anything, he was just trying to figure out what language the sliver of paper he'd found in the bottom of a drawer was written in. I think he just figured out the right enunciation by chance. He has a knack for languages. Mum was madder at Dad's for keeping the parchment than at Bill. Halfway through fighting the swarm, Dad said that we were probably going to have to let the Pest Sub-Division of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures handle it. That was when Mum told Bill, Charlie, Percy and even Fred and George to roll up their sleeves, grab their wands and pitch in. Ron and I didn't have a wand yet. The bright side was that afterwards we had a lot of little shells to pick up and sell. Those are used in a lot of fancy potions and that Christmas we all had some really nice presents. I got my first Quidditch broom."

Hermione said: "I've never heard of a spell that can make so much damage without the caster meaning it. I'll have to look into that...You were telling us about the Zoroastrians' beliefs, my love."

Ron nodded: "Yeah, these guys think that words in what they call the primordial tongue have power in themselves. They also think each one of the forces has its place in the universe and that creation cannot exist without destruction. They don't talk about acting well, they talk about acting rightfully, which means acting in a way that keeps balance. Dad thinks they just use different words to say the same we do. He says the couple of Zoroastrian wizards he knows are very decent fellows. Most people don't agree with Dad. Knowing one is very rare in itself. But with Dad having worked Mysteries, you know? He knows weird folks. The Zoroastrians refuse to join most Magic conventions and they reject the Statue of Secrecy, according to their philosophy it creates imbalance. They rarely use their magic. Most are considered as holy men and are respected members of their Muggle communities. Women are almost never seen, they are all powerful seers and scryers. They call themselves The Eyes and keep themselves in high towers to be able to better sense the fabric of time and space. These gals think that time is actually space curving itself like rubber. Crazy stuff, really."

Hermione chuckled: "Some very smart Muggles think that is the case too."

"Weirdos come in all shapes, luv. A lot of those shapes are Muggles. Zoroastrians wizards leave their countries rarely and almost always prompted by something one of their The Eyes has seen. The men call themselves The Hands. The Eyes and Hands of Fate sounds really tacky but very few dare laugh at them."

Hermione frowned: "That does sound odd, but I still do not see the reason to be frightened."

Ginny said: "There are lot of misconceptions about them. But when they do leave their countries it is on what they call quests to restore the balance. They are said to have committed acts of both incredible good and acts of incredible evil during those quests and, as it is impossible to predict what brings them to your door, I'd be scared to see one too. They could do anything from slaying your baby to saving your life. Mum says one of Dad's odd friends visited while she was pregnant with Percy and that she had wanted to run to the hills the moment she saw him standing at her door. The guy just had tea, discussed something with Dad about the Order of the Phoenix and left. Mum says Dad went to report to Dumbledore what the man had said immediately and in person and that she was incredibly relieved that the guy left without doing anything but talk. Most wizards and witches don't like to mention them. They like to pretend they don't exist."

Hermione sighed despondently: "That seems to be the golden standard in the Wizarding World to pretend that anything troublesome does not exist."

The other three nodded. They had been through a war which existence was still being debated by some official circles of the wizarding society, mostly because those who had a conscience felt ashamed for doing nothing when Lord Voldemort basically took over the Magic Ministry.

Of course, a case could be made that some other people held to their alleged ignorance of the Death Eaters designs because they feared the retribution that may visit them for acting as what amounted to outright collaborators. After the war, in the name of reconciliation some had decided to put a veil of forgetfulness over a rather shameful episode in wizarding history in which they had let children fight the battles of men.

Ginny, Hermione, Ron and Harry all had their run-ins with people who to this date wouldn't believe a bunch of school kids had managed to defeat the most evil wizard of all. Those four knew the truth of what they had lived and had almost killed them. And, in general, that knowledge usually sufficed. They had been warriors, their battles real, they had returned home wielding their shields and the scars from them.

Even if their Ministry denied them the designation and any support related to that claim, they were veterans. They considered their dues paid. With a grace and dignity that was far beyond their years they had picked up their lives and buried their comrades to next to no fanfare. With time some people in high places had seen fit to recognize the kids from Hogwarts at least in part their efforts in defeating Lord Voldemort. They took it in stride, they weren't asking for accolades. Still, if someone insisted stubbornly and rudely they were just braggarts full of hot air, each had at times saw fit to show those people, by way of the wand even, the error of their ways.


	12. Harbinger

Chapter 12 Harbinger

"_But above and beyond there's still one name left over. And that is the name that you never will guess; The name that no human research can discover- But THE CAT HIMSELF KNOWS, and will never confess…__" T.S. Elliot in The Naming of Cats (Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats 1939)._

_AN: Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats is one of my personal obsessions. I was six or seven when I found Lloyd Webber's musical version of the poems that T.S. Elliot wrote for his godchildren. I particularly love The Naming of Cats. I used to break into singing it off key at the least provocation and, sometimes, even unprovoke__d__, to my parents and siblings despair. Nowadays I have a sense of decorum prompted by the fear of ridicule most of us adults are afflicted with. But the little seven year old inside my head, sang along while I was writing the quote… And, yeah, she is dressed in a cat suit… The horror._

_No one can claim originality in regards to the idea of a primordial language. It has been part of the myths of humanity for a long time. Some take the idea as far as encountering common roots in diverse tongues from Native American to Indo-Europea__n__, for example in regards to Theos, which designates the divine in many places. I admit my primordial language owes a debt of gratitude to Ursula K. Le Guin. My Farouk could easily be a wizard of her Earthsea. __H__e is here to help reinforce the idea of inevitability in Albus' and Gellert's tale. _

_The dragon warning devise may seem excessive given the M rating on my very mild version of Teleny, but I have some male friends reading me that appreciate the adventure side of my fic while not fully engaging in the boy on boy romance part of it. They were a bit shaken when J.K. admitted to an intense sexual aspect to the relationship, because they know I like mild erotica (like Teleny, often attributed to Oscar Wilde) and that I try to stick to official sources in my treatment of characters. So the warning signs are there basically for them. I'll make it as unobtrusive as possible. Having explained and shown how it works, from this chapter onwards only the Latin phrases will be recorded. On that note: Kolia, sorry for defiling the room of requirements, I know it is one of your favorite HP concepts. In my defense, in a school full of teenagers, I cannot possibly be the first or the last to do it._

"What was this Zoroastrian wizard looking for in your Professor's office?"

I smiled: "I didn't really give him the chance to explain his presence. I cast a binding spell on him."

He cocked an eyebrow: "Better safe than sorry? That doesn't sound like you, Monsieur Dumbledore."

"One hears dreadful things about Zoroastrian wizards, Monsieur Grindelwald."

"The only one I have encountered was a more decent fella than a lot of wizards I went to school with."

"Why am I not surprised that you have met one? And, sorry my friend, coming from a place with Durmstrang's reputation, your classmates may not have set the bar too high..."

"May I remind you I was expelled from the place for not communing with their beliefs? I've also told you I've been around. Though, in my experience, the Zoroastrians don't take outsiders into their confidence. I'm surprised one is being brought up on the subject of your close friends, Albus. Most people think they are ascetic celibates."

"You said it yourself, Gellert, I'm bizarre. And I cannot judge all Zoroastrian wizards by my experience with Farouk, but I can tell you that, though he is ascetic, he most certainly doesn't practice celibacy. He is as practical about the matter as you are… I guess I have discussed the subject once before, not really, he did most of the talking I was in no position to argue intelligibly. Farouk thinks of it as an act akin to eating or sleeping, something that is part of the scheme of things. It just is."

He smiled inquiringly: "Do you concur?"

"On principle yes, yet one cannot ignore certain societal and even ethical considerations, not to mention practical implementation of any theory is always… problematic."

"You are an odd duck," he smiled and grabbed a lock of hair that had fallen on my face, he passed the lock gently behind my ear. "I'm verily intrigued to find out what it takes to keep you from arguing. But let us go step by step, you were telling me you had cast a binding spell on the man."

"Farouk undid the spell and I was about to duel him, when he did something absolutely unexpected."

"That is the Zoroastrian's hallmark, doing the unexpected."

"He sure caught me by surprise. He surrendered. He fell to his knees, put his wand on the floor and said he could see I walked with omens about me so his life was in my hands, for he wouldn't dare alter the balance fighting me. I was astounded."

Gellert whistled: "Well I'll be... omens fluttering about you... You have been told twice and you still not believe."

"If one is to believe the Daily Prophet's divination section, we all have omens floating in our morning tea. It is truly surprising the amount of tall dark strangers and fate changing encounters that seem to lay in store for everyday Johns and Janes."

"I won't waste my time trying to convince you. I knew it the moment I laid eyes on you and I'm never wrong. Believe what you want, belief won't change a thing. What did you do then?"

"What I should have done in the first place. I asked him how he had managed to get in and what he was doing in Professor Dippet's office. And he told me he had been invited by Professor Dippet, the date must have been automatically saved in the Floo Network. Any exception to enter Hogwarts by Floo has to be authorized by the Ministry and the Board of Governors. Given the amount of red tape involved in such requests, I bet that the confirmation had arrived when Professor Dippet had already left to tend to his father. I had forwarded his correspondence, but his father had taken a turn for the worse. I understood why he hadn't gone through it. As for the reason of him being there, Farouk said his Eye had sent him on a quest to restore balance. He had been called to act as a Hand of Fate."

"_Az istenit!"_

"I also felt my soul falling to my feet. But the handsome young man politely introduced himself as Farouk Shabani, a Montenegrin wizard and he explained that Professor Dippet had been helping him investigating Graphorns and Streelers, which seemed innocent enough."

"Ah I guess some of your sentiments regarding the Ottoman Empire can be explained by a friendship with someone of the Principality of Montenegro…"

"I won't deny my information of the conflict in Albania was colored by a certain perspective I share with someone that I consider a friend presently, but I would never condone the massacre of any people under any circumstance, barbarism is barbarism, regardless of who wields the sword or the wand."

"I agree. Now, for other important matter: My friend, you truly didn't think to ask this handsome chap why would a Zoroastrian wizard on a quest for balance be keen on investigating one of the most magically resistant and aggressive creatures of the world along with one of the most poisonous ones? The word chimera would be the first one to come to my mind. The next ones would be unholy and monstrosity."

"I know you think me naive, but yes, the implications of the inquiry did cross my mind. Especially since Professor Dippet specializes both in DADA and Magizoology. However, I was more interested in having the man off the school grounds as soon as possible. And the quickest way to do so seemed to be to aid him. After introducing myself, I did just that. It took me only a couple of minutes to find the books with the information as Professor Dippet keeps his libraries well cataloged. There was only one problem: both books were in High Goblin and Farouk did not speak the language. We had been conversing in French and I told him that I could translate the passages for him but that it would take me some time. He impressed upon me the urgency of his request. This was the first time he had been called to act as a Hand and he was eager not to fail. Something about his pleading eyes was very persuasive. So we agreed he would come to collect the translations the next day in Hogsmead."

"Monsieur Dumbledore, one of these days you need to learn to say no to a pair of pretty eyes." He smiled wickedly: "Other than mine."

I didn't respond to his witticism: "Professor Dippet wouldn't have been willing to help him if he didn't believe his request to be right. So I did offer to help the man and I spent all night up translating the passages of the book that dealt with the beasts. It was a rather exhausting task, what I had failed to noticed at first glance, was that the books were actually written in a mix of High, Middle and even some Low Goblin that demanded much more work to get the nuances right. I only managed to sleep a couple of hours by skipping breakfast and going to my exam just as I woke up. It almost cost me the O in my Arithmancy N.E.W.T. I was so sleepy that I made a minor mistake in the demonstration of Paracelsus Matter Reformation Theorem. I think I might still have managed to get an Exceeds Expectations, but, fortunately, I realized my mistake and was able to correct it before turning in my scroll."

He sniggered: "Merlin forbid you got a mere Exceeds Expectations."

I shrugged: "Marks were important to me, they were the only way to prove my worth and give me chances of surmounting the difficult circumstances you are already aware of."

"You are right, I shouldn't make fun of that. I could drop out with no consequence, you couldn't."

"It's fine Gellert. It did sound a bit like I was bragging. I finished my exam, took a bath that I much needed and grabbed a quick lunch. Then I went about my day, preparing the next day's N.E.W.T. in Muggle studies, finishing grading papers and teaching my class. I had an early dinner brought to Professor Dippet's rooms by a house elf and, afterwards, I went to The Three Broomsticks. There I waited for Farouk to arrive, nursing a tall glass of gillywater."

"I should have guessed you are the one in thirty wizards that actually likes gillywater. It tastes too much like algae for my liking. Be careful or you will reincarnate in a merman, my friend. I'm more of a red currant rum wizard. It has a nice kick."

I laughed: "I positively love the taste of gillywater, I even like the chewy bits of gillyweed it sometimes has. I'll remember that you like red currant rum the next time we are somewhere I can buy you a drink."

He smiled: "One drink, and that is all I'll allow you to invite me, one of these days, if we are ever in a place where it makes sense for you to do so."

"You are going to do your best to guarantee we aren't, are you? I'm not dirt poor, you know?"

He didn't respond to that. Instead he said: "Was it wise giving a Zoroastrian an appointment in a public eatery?"

"Probably not, they are entirely unpredictable, but I didn't want to meet the man alone and in Hogwarts' grounds our meeting wouldn't have gone undetected."

"But you said entrance through the Floo Network needs to be approved, so someone must have known that your Farouk was coming, at least the first time."

"Not necessarily, Professor Dippet won't shirk away from bending the rules for what he thinks is right. Besides, he is so well respected that I doubt anyone would question him in regards to whom he receives in his office. He is next in line to become the Headmaster. The authorities probably knew Professor Dippet expected a visitor, but they may have not been aware of who was visiting him. That would have not applied to me. Setting up a meeting on the grounds could be problematic. I guess I was also hoping the man would behave if we were in public."

"And did he?"

"After some initial awkwardness, he did behave through most of our meeting."

"Initial awkwardness?"

"He tried to order firewhiskeys and the bartender refused to serve him without proof of him being of age. Farouk was asked to cast a spell without activating a trace, to which he refused as he saw it as wasteful. The bartender said he then had to order another drink. Farouk asked the bartender in a very low and rather menacing voice if his word on it was not considered sufficient. The cheeky bartender replied that no, it did not suffice. I thought that was going to be it. I honestly thought he was going to try to kill the bartender and I, of course, couldn't let that happen. But after inhaling deeply, Farouk muttered between teeth that he couldn't expect good manners from a heathen. It was lucky that the bartender decided not to be offended by that either. In a loud voice Farouk said that he would drink whatever I was drinking."

"_Az istenit, _Albus!You served gillywater to a murderous Zoroastrian wizard?_"_

"No of course not, I am aware it is an acquired taste. I explained that very few people favor the drink and suggested he drank a butterbeer instead. He grabbed my glass tasted it and said the gillywater would be fine. Once we were set with our drinks, I handed him the translation. He skimmed through it and asked how was it possible that what amounted to one and a half paragraphs in the original had turned into six sheets of double pages with no spaces and small cursive letter in the translation. I explained the difficulties of the task and that I had done my best. I punctuated that I had tried to leave out as little as possible, but Goblin, especially Low Goblin can convey volumes with a mere grunt. Finally, the description of the methods for neutralizing the Graphorns magical resistance were vague, some clarity could be gleaned from reading both books concurrently, but that made it impossible to be either literal or brief in the translation. I had even had to reference other works to get it right."

"Since you are alive and telling me the story, I surmise that it ended well. I cannot easily see how that happened, though."

"Farouk cursed, he said he didn't have time for reading a dissertation nor could he afford to risk the loss of valuable information contained in a grunt I may have decided to omit. He demanded that I accompany him in his quest. I tried to protest but he said it was obvious I had spent the whole night perusing the books, so taking me and the books with him would be better than taking any paper. He implied I could either accompany him voluntarily or else…"

"You, of course, refused, didn't you?"

I blushed and looked away.

"Merlin's mercy, Albus! Is it your habit to run off with every handsome Quixote that comes to you with a preposterous quest? Though I should probably not complain about that given I have profited from it."

I smiled: "You probably shouldn't complain. In my defense, I didn't endangered Professor Dippet's books, I didn't need to, for I had memorized them. And I did ask him to explain me what exactly was his quest. He said that a greedy man who owned a magical carnival and menagerie was attempting to create a chimera, just as you have guessed, that merged Graphorns and Streelers in order to create a profitable attraction. Farouk's Eye, who is also his twin sister, had seen that the man was about to succeed and in order to prevent an imbalance, she had sent her brother to stop him. Obviously no one with half a brain would allow that unholy monstrosity as you called it to be created, so once I was informed of it, I did indeed agree to go with Farouk and aid him in as much as I could."

Gellert stared at me wide-eyed: "Someone intended to merge those two magical beasts in order to create a circus attraction? The stupidity of men knows no bounds!"

"I agree, the idiot was trying to create a magically resistant, stationary snail that could change colors and that his patrons could use as shooting target for one of his games in what he hoped could be a cheap way. He didn't seem to be concerned about safety."

"There is no way to predict what characteristics of the beast involved in the spell will be inherited by the chimera. That blubbering idiot may have very well ended with a magically resistant, highly poisonous unruly bull that could carry a mountain troll on its back!"

"That is precisely what Roshan, Farouk's sister, had seen happening and, whilst I don't believe in prophecies, the mere possibility of it persuaded me to act. I needed to stay four more days in school to fulfill my compromise as a substitute teacher and also so I could have my last couple of exams. It took some negotiation but he agreed, afterwards we set out to look for the carnival. I will spare you a detailed account of what it took us to be able to track Le Cirque Arcanus to Wallonia. Suffice to say that we did after a particularly rough fortnight, for our inquiries alerted the circus performers and caused us to be attacked several times. I had tried to convince Farouk to peruse our sleuthing in a discreet manner, but he is not one for discretion. It was only through calling in favors and profiting from acquaintances good offices that we were able to traverse half west Europe in hot pursue of them with only minor infractions to the Statute of Secrecy. We finally caught up with the accursed circus performers as they were setting down shop in the Sambre's riverbank near Charleroi. It was my idea to conceal our identity with a transmutation spell and pretend to be rogue centaurs in seek of employment to gain their trust and be able to inspect the premises before they flee once more."

"You can transmute yourself and others into centaurs? Isn't human-creature transfiguration supposed to be impossible?"

I smiled: "In regards to the subject of transfiguration expectations on me were particularly high. I was undefeated champion of all magic schools. I needed to top myself in order to be able to impress the examiner into getting an O. I did it by creating a spell that can actually allow humans to magically transmute into creatures, but due to it requiring a wand, does not allow a creature to transmute into a human. Misuse of such spells by other magical creatures is what makes all references to them targeted for expunging by the Mysteries department. Even considering my spell breaches no law, I haven't been able to publish it due to safety concerns. It is a rather complex spell that requires protective invisible sigils to be casted and sustained on the surface of your wand during the duration of it. That demands skill and prowess not many wizards have. Coming back to you by your own means also requires a lot of skill and, frankly, a big ego, so most people shouldn't attempt it. But I will gladly share it with you, I think both your skill and ego are fit for the spell."

He chuckled: "I think I have an idea of what the spell may entail. I once transmuted into a giant version of myself. How is that for ego, my friend? We'll compare notes later. Zoroastrians are weary of any kind of human transfiguration. How did you manage to convince the chap to go through with it?"

"A little mystery is becoming. I'll just say that my performance as mediator between Farouk and the Wizarding world during that fortnight, gained me his confidence. I can also be very persuasive when my life is at stake, Gellert."

"I'm sure you can, Albus. So you went in as centaurs, what happened?"

"The owner was a bitter old warlock with a suspicious nature that examined us head to tail and, even after finding nothing, demanded we made a prophecy to prove we were who we claimed to be. It was lucky that Farouk was able to deliver, Roshan had apparently foreseen the difficulty and armed him with what we needed to pass off as seers. He said that Eyes participating on a quest are called Weavers and are active participants, though from a distance in all aspects of the quest. He spoke proudly of his twin sister. And I must admit that he had knowledge of the carnival and its denizens that was difficult to explain."

"I keep telling you that divination is real. Sure, there are a lot of frauds, but some of us are the true item."

"Even though, I still doubt the value of what could very well be self-fulfilling prophecies or cold readings from particularly smart people with insight on the human nature and the power of scrying which has been factually proven. Besides, if things are truly preordained, what can we gain by knowing them beforehand?"

"Nothing is set on stone, there is room for free will, Albus. Past and future are all about possibilities, predictability is limited but possible within a range. The paths of the future can be navigated like the paths of the past. The fact that you keep encountering those who trek them, should tell you something, my friend."

I wasn't and I probably still are not in a position to listen to such talk, Elphias. I decide not to acknowledge it. I don't know if that makes me a fool or a very wise man.

"We secured employment both as performers and work mules."

"I'm curious, what was your act?"

"Feats of archery and supposed mind reading. I did the archery and Farouk posed as a mind reader. I didn't enjoy fooling the circus goers, especially children and I was weary of fooling even some circus performers who seemed to be innocent too, but it was a necessity."

"Don't fret, Albus, I bet the children loved you as a centaur and most little ones are tougher than we give them credit for."

"I don't delude myself about children. Not even about their supposed innocence. Most were just as you can expect children to be, curious and a tad mischievous, but trying to be good. Yet a few of them, especially those of pure blood lineage who thought themselves better than all other creatures in this world, were awful. I honestly had a hard time not kicking a particularly hideous one who pulled my tail once. In any case, after a couple more days we managed to find the monstrosity we had come to find. A fight ensued during which I learnt firsthand just how destructive Zoroastrian magic can be. Trying to salvage some of their livelihood, the carnival folks surrendered. I had insisted that the Ministry in Belgium should be aware of our suspicions and our inquiries. We had only been half believed and all upon the word of my French Alchemist friends of whom you are already aware of and that are also hold in high regards by the Belgians."

"You are too much of a knight, my friend. It would have been easier to go rogue."

"We basically were. The Belgian Aurors had only promised loosely to send some back up, if we did manage to find anything of worth. There was no better way of alerting them to the fact that we had indeed found something of worth than sending an owl to Charleroi. The message would have to be relayed from there to Strasbourg. We were waiting for their arrival while handling the chimeras, for there were several. After some hardship, we managed to destroy the most dangerous ones. The beasts were far from successfully completed and, regardless, they were fearsome things to behold. As you have pointed out, my friend, the stupidity of some men knows no bounds. We had also secured the unfortunate hybrids which posed lesser danger that had been created in pursue of the wizard's pipe dreams of obtaining cheap targets. I was in the process of encasing some of the most poisonous ones in magical cages that could resist the foul chimeras' effluviums, when Farouk cast a spell that blinded the owner of Le Cirque Arcanus. He did it offhandedly, after the guys had already surrendered. Needless to say the rest of the troupe fled along with what they could carry. The owner's oldest boy, a mean looking burly brunette, well underway to becoming a rotund man, with brown lanky hair, incipient beard and narrow eyes, swore that he would avenge his father before a particularly mean looking house elf carried the blinded old man and forced the burly boy to exit left of stage."

"Zoroastrians are unpredictable."

"Yes well, after the Aurors finally arrived and took over, we were questioned in a perfunctory fashion. The chimeras were taken and we were sent on our way. I welcomed it. For reasons that will be readily apparent to you, I had no interest in drawing attention to myself. Having powerful friends can come in handy."

"So you are a Knight but not a saint either."

"Given what happens to the average saint, I can very easily live without being one. We made it back to Hogsmead by portkey and I immediately made us enter an abandoned local, some sort of unfortunate bar where squalor and filth seemed to have been the regular patrons. The place was marked by a bloody boar head, if the sign had ever had lettering, the painting had not survived years of neglect. I'm not surprised the business hadn't prospered. Once inside, I called Farouk on his wrong doing and he said there was no right nor wrong and that he had done nothing but what was already foretold. I told him that I don't believe in prophecies, but that I do believe in right and wrong. I also told him I didn't appreciate it that he had made me party to blinding an old man that no longer posed a threat. I felt insulted and demanded satisfaction."

"Oh Albus, honestly! You demanded satisfaction of a Hand of Fate in one of their quests for balance? Are you harboring a death wish?"

"I'd say no, but I've followed you through time and space into a run in with gambling Lutines and deathly mercenaries. And I'm about to follow you into a half-giantess criminal mastermind lair. Not to mention I'm ready to follow you in your bid to end the Statute of Secrecy and bring down all Wizarding governments, so there is some room to argue, Gellert Grindelwald."

He laughed: "Having just heard confirmation of you joining my quest, I don't feel like arguing with you, Albus Dumbledore. I'm relieved you made it out of that other argument alive, though. How exactly did you manage?"

* * *

"Ooh, the warning is here."

"You are winding me up, luv! How do you go from pleading to bring down the Statute of Secrecy and telling about fighting with a Zoroastrian wizard to bloody dragons? There must be some sort of mistake."

"No, my love, it's here in plain Latin: _Hic sunt dracones._" She showed them: "See?"

"Damn him! Even from death he keeps toying with us!"

"You can stay or you can leave, but you have been warned. And if you do stay you have to be quiet and do not interrupt. What's it going to be?"

Ron scoffed: "I'm not leaving, this just got interesting. I still think it is a mistake."

"What about you, Harry?"

"I'm staying too. I want to find out what happened with the Zoroastrian wizard."

* * *

"Farouk claimed he hadn't blinded the man. I laughed harshly and pointed out that I had been right there when he cast the spell. He said the man was blinded by greed and that the spell did nothing but restore the balance by bringing about consequence. It was not final, if the man managed to repent and make amends with good deeds, his sight would be restored. For what I had seen of the man, that wasn't going to happen. Farouk said that was not his fault, nor mine. I wasn't quite believing him. He said that my lack of faith wasn't his fault either. Then I did something that you might think rash."

"What did you do, Albus?"

"I told him that I was calling his bluff. If the spell was indeed innocuous for the guiltless, he should cast it on me."

"_Lófaszt!_ That's not rash, my friend, that is just stupid!"

"Farouk said no one but babies still clinging to their mother's tit are guiltless. I insisted and he said that before doing that to me he would have to asses my true nature. Apparently the process required that he tended to his devotions first. That almost sent me into a fit. We had shared a tent for a fortnight. The man was really ascetic, he claimed to use magic only under extreme need, hence the tent was not enchanted and, though spotless, it was rather small. He was also conscientious about his worship. His devotions included ablutions he conducted in what can only be described as a diminutive loincloth. It had been rather difficult to ignore him being in such close quarters while he genuflected in an outfit that left little to the imagination. I had managed as well as I could, but I didn't much care to repeat the experience."

Gellert laughed unbridled: "Shame on you, Albus, having impure thoughts about the holy man and while he was praying of all times!"

"He called it meditating. And, if I could ever lay my claim on sainthood it would be for those hours I spent staring at the brownish cloth ceiling of that little tent, lost in my own… erm… meditations. While Farouk did his devotions inside the rickety bar, I counted the cobwebs and added some more minutes to my sainthood tally."

He said mockingly: "You poor dear, I'm sure you suffered greatly."

"I survived, but barely. It got worse, I was already experiencing some discomfort when Farouk came to stand in front of me and made me look into his eyes as if he were a mesmerizer."

"Was he trying to hypnotize you?"

"I don't think so. He caught me by surprise, he is a very strong man and he can move fast. As you know Zoroastrians are used to live right along with Muggles and do not shy away from physical confrontation. I ended up with my back to the wall. He bid me to be still. He claimed he needed to look deep into my soul to divine my true nature. We were like that for a while. Until I was overcome by voluptuousness and had the impulse to do something that you will probably think even more stupid than what I had done before..."

He rose an inquisitive eyebrow.

"I assaulted him just like the Ravenclaw girl assaulted me."

He touched me with both hands patting down my arms: "You don't feel like a ghost, but I wouldn't be surprised if you disappeared and I found myself the protagonist of a tale of Gothic horror that ends with me realizing I have been convivial with one of the dead."

"Oh I lived. I hadn't felt more alive, my friend, than I did right then, until I met you."

He chuckled: "I take it he didn't gag."

"No, he did not. He took the attack with amazing sang-froid. A few seconds into it he was responding with outright enthusiasm. As I said, the loincloth left little to the imagination. I'm not as tall as he is, so I could feel his enthusiasm rather pressingly against my belly and my body, one could say on its own accord, responded in kind. That is when he grabbed me. At first I was too shocked to do anything. But as he expertly did away with the barrier of clothing and started to administer certain ministrations on me, I was overcome by another impulse of concupiscence… I grabbed him too."

"Goodness me."

"The wall I was leaning on was covered in sooth and grease which made it slippery. As his ministrations became more insistent, I had lifted a leg and supported it on his outstretched calf to better accommodate him and improve the angle of his dashes. I was also tending him while we kept kissing fiercely, which greatly imperiled my equilibrium. I was very close to the abandonment of full release when I almost fell down to the floor sliding down the accursed greasy wall. Farouk pulled away briefly, which extricated a moaning protest from me. But he was merely looking around for a better surface to support our present engagement. Having quickly assessed that there was none suitable inside the dilapidated bar, he returned to his enthusiastic ministrations and so did I. Once more, I began slipping on the wall, feeling somewhat frustrated at it. I found myself grasping for a hold with the hand that wasn't otherwise engaged, trying to gain the purchase for a very much needed resolution. And that is when I found the doorknob."

"The doorknob? Is that some sort of euphemism?"

"No, it was an actual doorknob! Let me tell you that a few seconds before that doorknob hadn't been there. Then it was and, you know me, I'm rather curious… I turned it, without realizing I was no longer leaning on a wall but on a wooden door. The knob turned, the door opened and I landed on my naked behind over the tiled floor of a moonlit Burtonian seraglio."

"What do you mean a Burtonian seraglio? You mean like a harem?"

"I mean exactly like a seraglio out of _Arabian Nights_, complete with twisting decorative columns, Arabic arches, latticed walls, an inner garden with exotic plants flowers and birds, a pond with water lilies in which a huge full moon was reflected even though it was midday outside…And, right in the middle of it, a carpeted nest with an assortment of cushions framed by four tall censer stands with censers and oil lamps that provided soft illumination and enticing aromas. It was sandalwood I think..."

"You have read Richard Burton's _The Book of the Thousand Nights and a Night_?"

"The unabridged, subscribe only version of it was in my vicar's library. He was a man of many interests who believed that feeding his spirit and finding joy in life was just another way of servicing his god. Once, when he was still alive, I had questioned him on some reading material he possessed and he said that unlike St. Agustin who had asked god to make him chaste just not yet, he was already chaste but not yet dead."

"Your vicar sounds like a riot. I think I would have liked the man. Now, back to the business at hand. What on earth was a seraglio doing inside a rickety bar in Hogsmead."

"I didn't have the faintest clue. I was taken aback by it. And I was further taken aback by the fact that Farouk claimed the place was all of my doing. He said that the nature of the room where we were in was to give people what they needed. He said it was a very clever spell and that what my want had conjured up was mightily impressive. When he asked if that had been my design from the beginning, I looked at him positively horrified. He said that his inference was understandable since he had noticed me ogling him several times during our chase for the carnival. I just lost it. I understood what that poor Ravenclaw girl must have felt when she said she was so humiliated that she wanted to die."

Gellert narrowed his eyes and asked: "And was the magical seraglio a spell of your making, Albus?"

"No it wasn't! At least not on purpose… I said as much and retorted how he could be sure -if the room gave people what they wanted- that the seraglio wasn't his doing. I pointed out that someone with a half undone loincloth poking outwards like a tent wasn't fit to cast the first stone. He made a gesture as if he were holding something delicate in the cup of his hand and made me float a few inches above the floor and out of the room while keeping the door open. And then he touched a latticed wall with his other hand, all of the sudden, he was inside a broom closet. He said that the room could not give him anything that he couldn't get for himself, so it saw no reason for resorting to trickery when in his presence. Then he took off his hand from the wall, set me back down inside the room and, once more, it turned into the very picture of Arabian debauchery. I blushed to the point of apoplexy. He laughed, the only time I saw him do that. He told me what I have already told you of his opinions on it being a need akin to eating and sleeping and, even though he usually tended to his basic needs in ascetic simplicity, it would be a shame to let such scenery go to waste. But for me, despite what the room and Farouk happened to think, the moment had passed."

* * *

Hermione said: "_Et abi__ē__runt dracones._"

Ron muttered: "I should have left when he mentioned the loincloth."

Ginny nodded: "Yep, that was a dead giveaway."

* * *

Gellert chuckled: "You forcibly kissed the man, stroke his desire almost to completion, lured him into a moonlit garden of oriental debauched splendor and then you denied him!? And here I was thinking you were a blushing virgin holding onto your innocence for ethical considerations, when you are actually a torturous tempter, Monsieur Dumbledore. This sheds a new light on the come hither, away with thee tactics that you employ with the moths that are drawn towards your brightness. Should I be weary to burn in it, in which case, would I be able to pull away?"

"I'm not a tempter! And I employ no such torturous tactics. I keep fumbling my way through these awfully awkward situations, which happen to me without any encouragement on my part!"

"Oh, my friend, I think you encouraged him alright. Now I am really curious: What ever did your Zoroastrian do?"

"He is not my Zoroastrian and what he did was his hallmark: the unexpected. Farouk immediately grasped the tide had changed. He shrugged philosophically and said that what should be, will be and that what should not be, will not. He took care of his predicament in the efficient fashion he does pretty much everything, afterwards he washed on the pond. Meanwhile, my predicament had evaporated in throes of shame. I merely looked away and arranged my own clothes. He exited the room. I followed him and the door disappeared behinds us just as swiftly as it had appeared before. Farouk got dressed, while I sat quietly in a dusty chair that could barely support my weight, trying to regain my composure. He packed up his few possessions, which had fallen to the floor when I had pounced on him. When he was done he looked at me and said that as his mission had been accomplished satisfactorily, he would bid me farewell and go home. He wouldn't use magic for mere transportation, so a long voyage awaited him."

He interrupted me: "You have been incredibly lucky to find such sportsmanly playmates so far, Monsieur Dumbledore. Teasers play a dangerous game."

I ignored the warning: "But, first -as a reward for my participation in the matter of the unholy chimera- he would gift me my true name, which apparently had come to him while we were… He protected the bar from prying ears, though no one had even approached the place in all our time there. And then he mentioned a word in his language. Farouk made me repeat it until he was sure I knew how to say it right. He said that the closest translation to it in English was harbinger. He also said that I should keep my true name in the primordial tongue to myself for it can give those who know it life and death power over me... He was bounded by an unbreakable vow to his god not to misuse his knowledge of it. I still don't know how an unbreakable vow with what I think is a figment of imagination works, regardless, I trusted him… And that, my friend, is the extent of my experience. Or, better said, lack thereof."

Gellert Grindelwald was looking at me very pale. He muttered: "_Gott im Himmel, _Albus, what have I done to you? You said you had seldom left Godric's Hollow and then only to go to Hogwarts. You hung onto that ridiculous tourist guide as if it were the scriptures when we visited Paris. You considered a trip in the metropolitan railway an adventure! You didn't want your soul to be altered and I agreed with you, because it has been a really long time since I've met someone whose purity of intent was worth preserving. How could I have known you'd had your true name revealed to you by a Shaman? I had to go around the world twice, overcome a hundred obstacles, perform a hundred task in order to be even considered. You stumbling upon it is so preposterous! You have to believe me! I didn't mean to!"

I looked at him: "Gellert, I don't understand you, what are you talking about?"

He moaned: "The tattoo, Albus, and the rite to make it permanent. The missing piece is finding your true nature. How was I supposed to know that you had already found yours while a Hand of Fate was giving you a hand?"

I giggled mirthfully.

He shook me by the shoulders: "Don't laugh! This is serious. Don't you understand that I've permanently and inadvertently altered the nature of you: the soul you believe in and of your magic too? You are a shadow walker now! There are always prices to be paid for power and I cannot be sure of what price will be asked from you. The fact you stroke the bargain unknowingly, won't exempt you from paying!"

"I do understand. And now, do you believe I wasn't lying when I told you that weird things keep happening to me uninvited? As for the price, I'm used to covering my debts and, even, the debts of others visited on me. You should have seen the amount of money my father owed by the time of his arrest. Or the quantity my mother had squandered before I took over the family's finances."

"That is not the kind of debt I am talking about. And you know it full well. Now I am deeply indebted to you. For, unlike you, I am aware of the price that the shadows may excise from you." His face was somber: "If I had fully understood my price beforehand, I might not have gone through with it... My bargain entails either emerging victorious or relinquishing my freedom for years of unspecified servitude. For me, that is a fate worse than death. I used to think that would make me even more eager to succeed and it would be an edge, but recent developments have introduced me to fear of failure. Now I tremble too when I think of what the shadows may ask of someone as fearless as you. It was never my intention to visit my demons upon you. I'm sorry, Albus, I truly am." He ended looking away from me and down to the floor.

I held him from behind. "Don't be, as I've said, I was already convinced to join your quest. I would have probably undergone the full rite at some point. This saved us two trips around the world and hundreds of tasks and obstacles. Now, as far as the shadows are concerned… Let me tell you that a few weeks after our last encounter I got a letter from Farouk. His sister Roshan had seen something else about me. According to the girl I'm a harbinger meant to be the halberd wielding herald that makes a wound in the thickest of darkness so that light can once more pour through it. So if the shadows try to come excise their price from me, it may very well be the case that they are the ones who end up regretting it."

He turned around, still in my arms and smiled: "He is fearless I tell you." Then he kissed me once more and all thought of shadows and prices to pay was dispelled.

My good Elphias, pardon me for never confiding this to you before. It was my intention not to burden you with all of my demons and I stuck to that until the end. This will explain to you why I was able to enter and leave Hogwarts undetected and why I could avoid being found, least I wanted to be found, even when the Ministry or the Death Eaters were doing their best to find me. I know several members of the Order of the Phoenix wondered at my ability to do so and at my unwillingness to share the secret of it with them. Believe me, I never shared it in order to protect them; for I am now convinced that the price you have to pay to obtain such power is just not worth it.

I was a cocky fool, even more so than most teenagers are. Messing around with my very soul. Speaking lightly about things I couldn't fully understand. Mind you, even after being part of several, I still don't believe in prophecies. I think that belief in them makes them happen more often than not. However, I now believe in omens and portents. There are forces walking among us that at time manifest in unexpected ways. And it might have been wise to take heed of some of their warnings… The shadows did excise their price, how was I supposed to know the pound of flesh and blood they would take from me weren't going to be mine?


	13. Practice Makes Perfect

Chapter 13 Practice Makes Perfect

"_For man, when perfected, is the best of animals, but, when separated from law and justice, he is the worst of all: since armed injustice is the more dangerous, and he is equipped at birth with the arms of intelligence and with moral qualities which he may use for the worst ends. Wherefore, if he have no virtue, he is the most unholy and the most savage of animals…__" Aristotle in Politics Book I (4th__century BC)._

Again the kiss was veering towards danger so Gellert broke it off, he walked a few paces briskly as if he were trying to shake off a muscle cramp and then said: "I don't know about you, but I could really use something to blow off some steam. How about a change of pace in our training towards something equally physical but of a different nature?"

"I'm not sure what you mean by that, Monsieur Grindelwald."

He chuckled: "Your story, my friend, brought up a very interesting point: there are some beasts and creatures with magical resistance like mountain trolls, graphorns and even to some degree giants, centaurs and werewolves that are not easy to fight with regular spells. It may very well be the case that you don't have a whole night to research their weaknesses translating them from a book in Low Goblin. Our quest can take us anywhere. You may become aware of an unknown beast's magic resistance by having to face it. There is also another problem: doing magic underwater, which you, being somewhat aquatic, must know is hard to do even with a wand as a lot of spells don't work well, you have to put more muscle behind them, something few wizards can manage. Wonder if there are any serious studies about density and elasticity affecting diffusion, reflection, refraction and diffraction focused on magic … I could bet my head they aren't, but they should be, they really should."

I laughed softly: "I'm so glad to know I'm not the only one who rambles. And I'm glad too there is no one willing to take you on your bet, I fancy your head where it is. Flamel has some very interesting essays on the subject. Not published, of course, for they mention particles and anything even suspected of addressing the indivisible is swiftly expunged by the Ministries, but he does mention that higher temperature and density should, as they mean higher concentration of corpuscles, affect diffusion for they increase the risk of collision. As for diffraction, reflection and refraction Flamel and Dumbledore have some other interesting and unpublished essays about how water elastic properties affect the shock waves effects on two spells: Stupefy and Protego. It is my studies on the later that allow me to cast a multiple shield. Though I admit you may not consider the essays as formal studies, because gathering hard data is very difficult. Wizards avoid being underwater. I've helped Flamel with some experiments, but, so far, to my knowledge, no one has replicated them or come up with their own; so there is no statistical support to our claims as of yet."

"As hard data is missing and we are only talking about what amounts to pieces of speculative writing and a couple of experimental designs, I think my head is safe for now. The point is, Monsieur Dumbledore, another avenue of training opens for us. Would you be as kind as to cast _Ferroque Intus et in Cute_ on yourself?"

"You want me to turn myself to iron? You said you are aware of the dangers of human transmutation."

"I am, you are, we both are. We both understand successful human transmutation requires you to exist in several states at the same time. We both know the risks and the countermeasures; as well as the usual mistakes when trying to implement said countermeasures. I bet my head again that we both have looked into our own improved countermeasures in despite of the prohibitions. I think you will find that those work better with you being a shadow walker now, since that means you are already existing in a permanent state of indeterminacy. Most people only manage to exist in several states to transmute for limited periods of time into the animal they feel the greatest affinity with. But we are so much more than animagi, my friend. Your grandfather had it right: magic is mind over matter and regular minds have biases, so when most people have to picture an alternative to being themselves, they usually are only able to do so to transmute into their so called animal spirit. That is, if they are to be able to return to themselves, eventually. We have already successfully gone beyond that limit with your centaur and my giant. We did it even before becoming one of those who walk all the paths at the same time, as my Shaman teacher dramatically states it. And we could go back and forth about all this now or we could acknowledge the fact that, unlike most wizards, we are both powerful and skillful enough to do it. Modern wizards like to think that magic has grown weak because that is easier to accept than it is to acknowledge it is them who have grown weak… and soft in the head."

"That sounds awfully unkind, Gellert."

"Truth is seldom if ever pretty and never, ever kind. We are not weak and the biases that thwart most wizards are not ours. So, tell me, Albus: What is it going to be? Are we to lose a couple of hours discussing this at length or can we proceed with the lesson?"

I sighed: "Proceed, please, my friend. But let it be noted: I want to discuss this at length at a later time."

"Agreed, later we will discuss it to your heart content. I'm surprised that you know _Ferroque_, most wizards don't." He said as he cast the spell on himself and turned a metallic shade of gray: "You are already in good physical shape, so we can move to sparring almost right away. I want you to turn to iron because that way I cannot hurt you while I teach you baton fencing. I also want you to turn that Alder wand with a Phoenix feather core, which I think is the one that suits you best -besides your own- into an iron cast truncheon like this: _Augifico! Ferrum!" _He was using the Black Walnut with a kneazel whisker core that worked best for him, besides his own. He turned the wand he was practicing with into a baton with a rapid flick of his wrist."

I did the same to my wand, using his as a model: "_Augifico! Ferrum!"_

He said:_ "_Do not turn your wand to a baton if you are flaying it about in a fight. You want to make sure your resulting baton doesn't get caught on anything and is deployed fully in one single movement, so always do it parallel to your leg. You have to learn to do it with a single flick of your wrist. Then I want you to swiftly move the truncheon upwards, elbow close to your body, the hand holding the baton in front of your sternum, the baton almost touching your shoulder like this." He showed me the position: "That way you are ready to protect your face and neck. You will also have a better purchase for an immediate attack, we'll get into it later. For now we will just practice deployment and combat stance. Make your truncheon shorter, I think about 14 inches long will do for you."

I rose an eyebrow: "I don't know the first spell, I would need you to teach me wand movements and intonation. I know Latin, though, that is how I know what it does. And your truncheon looks about 21 inches… Why would mine need to be so much smaller? Is this another pun about my height?"

"I already know how to use mine, my muscles are trained for combat and, though a truncheon is a short range weapon, I like the flexibility of technique that 21 inches afford me. You are shorter than me and for weapons in physical combat, size does matter, my friend. You are also untrained, so you will start learning with the 14 inches and move to 16 once you master it, because, even with iron skin, we are going to be hitting each other pretty hard and I'd rather not have you flaying a baton too long to be useful for a beginner. Afterwards, we are both going to turn our wands into staff weapons 71 inches long, so I can teach you an eastern technique known as _wushu._ We will focus on fighting using a staff they call _khakkhara_. The original version has a round crowning with jingling rings for it can be used both to call the faithful and to defend traveling monks. We will do away with the rings, stealth being a strategic advantage for our purposes. The baton works best when dealing with opponents of roughly your same size, but when dealing with giants, trolls or anything considerably bigger than you, the long staff is better. If I ever meet that Zoroastrian of yours in the flesh, I'm going to ask him for pointers on how not to get lip from you, Monsieur Dumbledore."

I pouted: "It was just an observation! And an honest question, I think..."

"Then you got what you wanted when I gave you an honest answer. Now, let me teach you the right intonation and wand movement for the first spell, once you master casting it and moving around in your iron skin, I want you to learn to cast it concurrently with a glamor that makes you seem unchanged." He said as his skin seemed to return to normal: "So that if we are fighting a magically resistant creature that has a wizard master or ally, they can't easily undo our best protection against a physical attack. We are going to stay on the ground for now, but once you get really adept at it, I will teach you to adapt your buoyancy so that you can also swim in your iron skin. We will start practicing casting all three spells and the glamor in succession, while adopting a combat stance, and then we will practice parries and attacks until you feel comfortable. For the next stage of training, we will duel, for the best combat training is combat. Finally, we will combine Muggle fighting with spell casting with our wands both in truncheon and staff form to achieve maximum efficacy of both magical and physical defense and attack."

"I take it this is not your first dance, Monsieur Grindelwald. You seem very well informed. Again, I don't know if I should be admired or terrified by it."

"I've told you that I'm Aristotelian and that I have been training to become a warlock since I first had that vision. Whatever did you think I meant by that? I always strive at perfecting myself and I'm planning for the long run, my role model being Alexander the Great. Though I must confess I got the idea of training myself for a unique profession from Sherlock Holmes designing his own curricula for sleuthing, learning every topic of interest to him instead of waiting for someone to force feed it to him. I happen to think that a good combat technique is a must for a revolutionary."

I chuckled: "Conan Doyle strikes again."

A warm boyish smile flickered on his face and then quickly he got serious once more: "For eight years I have been the sole person fully committed to stopping the horror from swallowing the world, so yes, I'm very well informed of anything that can help me avoid getting killed while I further my aim. How many actual combat skills do you think you learnt in Hogwarts?"

"I'm sorry Gellert, I don't see where you are going here. Do you want me to estimate a percentage?"

"Not necessarily, but sure, give me your wildest guess."

I had to actually pause and think about it: "There was dueling club and all offensive spells can be used in combat. Oh Merlin! I don't know: 30 percent?"

He chuckled: "You are indeed an optimist, my friend."

"I think I held myself relatively well when I dueled you. How many combat skills did they teach you at Durmstrang?"

"Honestly? I think they taught me zilch. The root of the problem is not with schooling, is with outlook. Aside from the killing curse, which no magical school actively teaches, there is pretty little that sanctioned magic can do in actual combat. The fact that killing force is about the only practical spell available to goody two shoes says a lot about their actual goodness and their intelligence. And, Albus, you held yourself against me in a highly ritualized mockery of combat. I never intended to hurt you and I would never had offered you to join me in my revolutionary schemes based solely on that. Frankly, I was more impressed when you blew up the fire crab betting ring."

"Merlin's beard, Gellert!"

"It showed true initiative, creativity and actual combat skills, Albus. That you were able to retain those after seven years of those Ministry complying eunuchs trying their best to castrate real magic out of you, is a testament to the strength of your character."

"Have I told you that, before joining you in your mad crusade, I was seriously considering becoming one of the eunuchs trying their best to castrate magic out of young wizards and witches?"

He laughed: "Then I'm even gladder I have swept you off your feet and prevented that horrible fate from happening, my friend. I don't think I want to live in a world where a mind like yours is reduced to teaching at Hogwarts. I'd rather set the world on fire than see you wasted there. Good thing I was already planning to set the world on fire."

"I'm signing in for making a better world, not for burning the old one. I'm sure it only needs a little tweaking."

"See? An optimist I tell you. Would hard facts convince you?"

"What hard facts?"

"Let us play a guessing game while you practice with _Ferroque_, going iron and back." He demonstrated. "When you get the hang of moving as iron, try the glamor. Go. As for the hard facts. Are you aware that your ministry's keeps careful statistic of wizards, especially in the case of Hogwarts alumni?"

"Is an elite really a good sample to go by?"

"It is not only for Hogwarts alumni. Is for all adult wizards: Including those who take the Ministry's standardized test after homeschooling. Since most witches are either self-employed or housewives and they tend to fall under the cracks, we will focus on formally employed wizards alone. Can you guess what the average of education of your English employed wizard is?"

"I haven't really thought about it, but I will say that it is a five O.W.L.s level."

"And you would be wrong. As it turns out 80 percent of your employed wizards only have on average a little shy from four O.W.L.s for those educated in Hogwarts and three Standard Wizard Outstanding Test for those homeschooling."

"That can't be right."

"But it is. Your Ministry also calculates the number of spells and potions that are required to pass the three and half O.W.L.s 75 percent of your fifteen year olds manage to pass with at least an Acceptable. Care to make a guess, my friend?"

I gulped: "Not really."

He chuckled: "Going just by your Ministry's statistics, the number of spells your average wizard has to master in order to be the bread winner of your wizarding household comes to the appalling amount of thirty two spells and five potions, Albus. So if you are going to pick up a fight with an English wizard on the street, chances are that said wizards is going to know, and I'm being incredibly generous here, around fifty spells and 7 potions. That is considering that you do like to keep your floors clean with _Scourgify _and treat your warts with white willow poultices. Of that small amount of knowledge that you seem to consider prepares someone for life: how many do you gather are combat worthy?"

"Sweet Merlin! Wait a minute Gellert. We are not going to pick up a fight with Dick from Gutter St., we are picking up a fight with Aurors who had to pass at least four N.E.W.T.s with Exceeds Expectations grades. And three additional years of training of Concealment, Stealth, Tracking, Poisons and Antidotes and Magical Detection and Law."

"Bravo Albus! That is good thinking, I thought about it too. And your ever helpful Ministry also keeps public records of that. For being so keen on keeping things obscure, your government, my friend, does not understand the concept of secrecy. Publicizing the skill set of their sole army, a much reduced army, is downright stupid. My Austrian Cabinet at least is a little bit less idiotic, they keep that information under lock and key. Not a lock a shadow walker cannot break, but I give them points for the effort."

"You think this is funny!"

"Not in the least. How many spells do you think Average Auror is going to have at his disposal when you face off with him? Again, that is going by your Ministry's statistics alone, Monsieur Dumbledore."

"How many?"

"This was supposed to be a guessing game, Albus."

"I am not in the mood for games, Gellert. How many?" I was so shaken that I clang the baton against my leg, the pain was minimal but enough to make me come back to my senses. I lowered my tone of voice: "Please, just tell me."

"Be mindful that the training programme hasn't been updated since the 18th century when it was initially instituted, my friend. Your Aurors have to know eighty nine spells, hexes, charms and glamors. They need to master forty one potions and ointments. And this is my personal favorite: they need to know the thirty two most common creatures of the isles, a list which includes two extinct species they will never encounter. Also, it requires them to be able to perform five free transmutations in order to be considered the best qualified to protect magical Great Britain. As for their intellectual prowess, aside from their magical skill: They are not even required to be able to spell their names right or be able to add up their tab without the use of a magical quill, Albus."

"Fuck mercy! Wait, wait another minute. They have permission, under certain circumstances, of using unforgivable curses. Those are unbeatable and that alone makes them dangerous."

"If the fact that killing force, torture and mind alteration are the most effective resources at their disposal doesn't tell you we are fighting against tyranny, I don't know what does. First: Nothing is unbeatable, what a man can make another can unmake, spells, all spells, were conceived by wizards just like you and me, Albus. No angel or god delivered them to us and unforgivable curses are no different. Second: Are you telling me that you find comforting the idea that only three curses stand between you and whoever may want to take over? What if I were to tell you that all those three curses can be rendered ineffectual by a rather clever and verily good looking young wizard?"

"I'd tell you to quit morphine or letting your valet bite you, whatever vice you're hung up to, you shouldn't take your admiration of _Holmes_ so far, my friend."

He laughed unbridled: "At the end of this training I'm going to teach you how it is done, if you haven't figured it out on your own by then. But, Monsieur Dumbledore, be prepared to call me master for real if you don't. As I'll know you are only fit to be my slave: A very pleasing slave, but not an equal partner. Since I like you so much, my friend, I'll give you two clues: One, remember your Marcus Aurelius and, first principles: ask yourself: What is a spell? Two: You already know the answer of how to beat the unbeatable unforgivable curses, you just haven't made the right question."

* * *

Harry stood up and stomped his palm on the table. Then he faced Hermione: "Do you think that is possible?"

Ron, Hermione and Ginny were looking at him wide-eyed.

Hermione blurted: "They always told us the unforgivable curses were unbeatable."

Harry frowned and said with anger in his voice: "I'm not fucking asking you what they told us, Hermione. I'm asking you if you think it is possible to stop unforgivable curses and if you think Dumbledore knew how to do it. I personally know of at least two instances in which one unforgivable curse was effectively stopped. So it is doable. And one could argue that the second instance was orchestrated by Dumbledore with full knowledge of what was going to happen." He stood up and hit the wall.

Ron stood up too and placed his hand on Harry's shoulder: "Mate, calm down."

"Mate, my parents..." his voice broke.

Ron nodded: "And Neville's, and Sirius, and Fred too, Harry. Fred too."

Harry Potter turned around so that his friends couldn't see his face.

Ron patted his back: "I wouldn't put it pass bloody Dumbledore. But Gellert Grindewald was only sixteen and sixteen year olds can be full of it, especially when they are trying to impress someone they fancy... So don't draw any conclusion just yet, mate."

Hermione blabbered as she tried to rapidly skim through the diaries: "This has no index but if you let me go through it I can try to find the exact part in which..."

Harry denied and sat back down looking somber: "There is no rush. We'll get there soon enough. Keep reading, Hermione. I'm OK now."

* * *

"Hah! Asking the right question. And if you find the bellboy pleasing, then you are sicker than I thought. What is undeniable is that you are one conceited…"

"Now, now, you don't want to start your training by insulting your teacher. For I intend to teach you combat from a wider perspective than waving a wand to kill as only resource. And the only way of doing that is, not surprisingly, teaching you Muggle style combat as magical one is, as pretty much everything else, a lost art. Everything useful has been almost expunged to nonexistence. Violence has to be repressed in wizards and witches souls in order for them to accept the shameful servitude to the Statute of Secrecy we are all stuck with. They don't want ragging bulls, Albus, but dumb ox licking at the yoke." He spat on the floor disgusted.

"That's a bit harsh."

"I think it is accurate. I will have you reclaim your nature and live it to its full. Oh what a warlock you will make when I'm done with you."

He looked intensely at me until I looked away blushing.

"Over these last two years of preparations, while time traveling, I've tried to amend that shameful oversight in my education by training with two Muggle teachers to develop a mix combat style that suits well people who already carry a wand around. I've heard of a new sporting club that is doing pretty much the same with something they call _bartitsu, _but mine is especially designed for magic practitioners. One of my teachers was the master of speed and mobility, Franҫois-Joseph Bertrand known in fencing circles as the Napoleon of the foil. Despite misconceptions, he was not related to the Bertrand family dynasty, who still teaches young gentleman nowadays, and has even the crown princes under their tutelage. Franҫois-Joseph was not a salon fencer, but a master of the sword. Meeting the man required me to stretch my time traveling to the limit of safety, going as far back as 1855. He was at the peak of his art in the 1830s, but I could only meet him when he already was an old man. Regardless, his last duel was six months before his death and he died in his sleep, going to his grave undefeated. He managed that thanks to his lighting speed and unconventional techniques. So I decided the risk was worth it. Only after showing Franҫois-Joseph that I was worthy of it did he let me be his apprentice. My second teacher was a completely unknown man, for that was his design. It suited me well, for it spared me the trouble of having to pretend to be someone else. I suspect he would have seen right through any effort to deceive him, perhaps even magical ones. Besides, once he determined by trials I was worthy to learn from him, he didn't ask anything of me but to strive for perfection, for he wouldn't have anything less. I only knew him as _Māsṭara_ and he called me _Chātrā_ which mean master and student in his language. He trained me in a temple in Katmandu. I found him thanks to a rumor Uzume-chan had heard, if you remember she is my witch correspondent in Mahoutokoro."

"Once more your purposefulness amazes me. You managed to get trained precisely by these people driven by a vision you had when you were ten. And I thought I was an obsessive planner."

"People in my circumstance, Monsieur Dumbledore, cannot afford to operate upon fancy or whim. I'm nothing if not purposeful. Which is why meeting you was more than a little troublesome to me." He said caressing my face: "I don't usually welcome the unexpected, Albus. But I'm glad you are now committed to the cause. If you hadn't accepted to join me, I would have had to walk away from you or at least try to. I'm used to getting things my way and I seem to want to be with you very keenly… I'm not sure how I might have reacted, if you had decided otherwise. I'm glad neither of us gets to find out how that might have gone down."

* * *

Hermione bit her lip: "I can't make out what it says in the next paragraph, the writing is really bad here." She waved her wand and frowned: "The diaries must be protected against alteration, I cannot fix it." She had kept trying until Harry made her stop.

They didn't have any way of knowing if Mr. Dodge had known the relevance of the two dates they could read, but they did. The other three tried unsuccessfully to read from the portion of intelligible diary. What they could piece up between the four was:

I'm so incredibly stupid Elphias, can you believe I actually felt flattered? A part of me still feels his words were a confession of love…other part is screaming… Desire to own has nothing to do with love… how precious that possession seems to be... Foolish hopefulness and bitterness… I'm too close to the problem…pain, which should have somehow diminished in the years past is as good as new… especially true of late with that dreadful date: March 28 1998 looming ever closer… forever being out of my reach… My good Elphias, am I to take comfort from knowing that June 30… Don't hold this against me, my friend... Temptation at my age is a shameful affair…. I wish I could have explained all in full, but self-justification is almost as abhorrent to me... What happened to us is…

* * *

He let go of me with a sigh and carried on: "Time being of the essence and a precious commodity to me, I had to learn fast, hence both my teachers demanded that I followed their instructions unquestioningly and that I pushed myself to the limit and beyond. You might want to profit from my experience. There is a method to the madness of learning how to turn yourself into an effective weapon, Monsieur Dumbledore… A method tested by survival. I advise you to learn it by root, if you want it to serve its purpose right. Once you master it, you can cast the mold aside and make your own. My take on it is that you need at the very least five of your N.E.W.T.s all with Outstanding and at the very least three additional years or however long it takes to learn proper combat, concealment, reveling, real free transmutation, as well as the knowledge of the importance of understanding how the world (magical and non-magical) actually works, so you can be considered an elite warrior. Having read several of your papers, your highly publicized curricula, talked to you and seen you in action, I think that we have pretty much all of it covered with you, save for the combat side. I'm ready to teach it to you, if you are willing to learn it from me. That is, if you respect me enough to feel I will be able to teach you, which includes not questioning my method every step of the way."

"Point taken, I'll follow your methods unquestioningly then, my friend. With one caveat, since you say that you have enough hair to brew the Polyjuice Potion again, I want out of the bellboy's skin."

"Albus that is a waste of perfectly good hair! Plus you need to practice in disguise."

"Balderdash, the energy necessary to sustain Polyjuice transformation is negligible and you know it. I only agreed to remain in the bellboy's loathsome skin because I didn't know you had more of his hair. Plus you were willing to waste perfectly good hair for the sake of…" I blushed: "You know what."

He smiled mockingly: "I'll agree, if you call it by its name, no euphemisms. And if you solemnly promise to follow my indications in regards to combat until you are skilled enough to make your own decisions. It's for your own safety, Albus. Indulge me and I'll indulge you."

"Deal. You were willing to waste perfectly good hair for the sake of us having sex. You can waste it for the sake of me not wanting to vomit every time I see my reflection. And I solemnly promise to follow your indications unquestioningly in regards to combat, as long as they are reasonable."

"I guess that promise is as good as it gets with you. Figures Monsieur Dumbledore is not made to be a mindless follower. I'll get out of the Swabian skin too."

I sniggered: "You don't have to. The man is no eye sore."

"Believe it or not there is a practical reason. I am more proficient handling my own body and that will redound in being able to teach you better. Does that sound reasonable to you?"

"It does." I cast my thief's downfall and changed us back. Then he cast a gust of wind to dry us.

"Well, having agreed upon the terms, the training begins now. I'll show you how I do the parries and the attacks and then you'll try it yourself. When you have it right then we will do it at the same time. We are going to use verbal spells the first few times. Then we'll change to non-verbal because not revealing what exact spell you are using is also better from a strategic point of view. Practice makes perfect, we will go for constant repetitions until you do it unselfconsciously. This has to come to you as easy as breathing to be really useful. Does that plan of action make sense to you?"

I merely nodded.

"Why, now, no comment?"

I smiled meanly: "So there is no way to please you then, Master Grindelwald. Make up your mind: how would you rather have me, silent or talkative? You cannot have me both ways."

He smiled meaner than I had and locked eyes with me: "Oh, you don't want an honest answer to how I'd rather have you right now, Albus Dumbledore, not after not having seen you look this good for a while; you don't. And I think we are both acutely aware of how you could please me. However, perhaps it is best if we focus just on combat and leave other physical engagements for a later more auspicious date. And you don't have to call me master for either instance… Unless you feel like it."

I chuckled for all reply. That was as honest an answer as I ever got from him. And looking at him was like looking him anew too, the Swabian was handsome but Gellert was Gellert and that made all the difference in the world. So it was better to let sleeping dogs lay.

* * *

Ron whistled appreciatively: "How old was he again? Sixteen, Eighteen… Never mind. This guy was unbelievable! He came up with the Auror training review act before it was implemented. What an Auror he could have made."

Hermione scoffed: "He was, or at least he pretended to be while impersonating Percival Graves the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and Director of Magical Security while he successfully infiltrated MACUSA in 1926. It is a matter of record that he boasted during his captivity -while he was still allowed to keep his tongue- that he actually had to tone his magical ability down in order to impersonate Graves, in fear that his true power would give him away. And the Auror Training Review Act requiring five NEWTs, at least three with O and none with less than EE, also adding Battle Magic in the three additional years of training was instituted by Albus Dumbledore as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, in case that you wonder. Though the approved version was a revision, the original did include some Muggle combat training. Gellert Grindelwald was evil, but a very crafty, smart evil. Which is probably why the only person who could face him was the only one who had trained with him as an equal."

"Sure, he was a nefarious dark wizard, we all know that, but he had some things right when it comes to combining combat styles and training someone before sending them to danger. I didn't fail to notice that Albus Dumbledore never bothered to train us or the Order of the Phoenix as he had been trained. Even when he found out that Voldemort was gathering an army of giants and werewolves…If Bill had known about this, he might not be disfigured, luv."

Hermione protested: "I'm sure Dumbledore had his reasons. One of which may be that he didn't think we were powerful or skilled enough to manage the same training he had undergone. Not to mention that the knowledge they had about magic and so many other subjects exceeds by far any of ours. That may also be the case with defeating the unforgivable curses. That they could doesn't mean we can."

Ron didn't reply with words, he merely huffed spitefully. He turned towards Harry: "Do you remember, mate that time with the crazy witch with the illegal mandrake greenhouse who had a mountain troll chained in her backyard? Who would have thought that a creature as stupid as a troll could be trained as a guardian? Something like this could have saved us a lot of grief, mate."

Harry nodded: "Grief and several broken ribs, arms and legs. We all had lots of bone regrowing to do after bringing in those two. Even with the combined task force for Magical Creatures and our Tactical response team, we could barely managed to secure the mandrakes, the witch and the troll. And she looked like such a nice old lady at first that I thought we had the wrong house… Then all hell broke loose and my left ankle still bothers me when it rains."

Ginny frowned: "The healer said that there was not one single bone in your ankle and foot left unbroken. The troll had pulverized all 24 of them..."

Harry took her hand: "It's part of the job, Gin."

She didn't answer, she just nodded. A good Auror wife, she knew what she was signing up for when she married Harry Potter. It didn't mean she was not scared or uncaring, it just meant she had learned to hide her fear and concern very well. She had started young.

Hermione said while showing them: "And the diaries are very thorough, there are references to fencing manuals with diagrams and what looks like a Chinese scroll with drawings."

Ron looked at the diagrams and drawings: "These are really good. Want to try some of it the next time dragons show their ugly mugs in the diaries, mate?

"Sure, mate. It may come in handy."

It was Hermione's turn to frown: "You are no longer an Auror, my love."

Ron chuckled: "If you remember it Hermione Granger, I wasn't an Auror the first time I faced a mountain troll. You can always have a run in with a beast, even when the world is not under attack from a particularly nasty dark wizard. I mean, Bill had trouble handling a werewolf and he is a bloody good hexer...There are still some werewolves at large here in Great Britain. I don't want what happened to Lupin to happen to our kids. One never knows when something like this may be useful. You and Ginny might want to have a look into it too, luv."

It was not such a bad idea. Still, silently hoping they never got to put that particular knowledge to the test of survival again, Hermione nodded and continued reading.

* * *

Once I got the hang of the spells and moving around being iron hard, I was ready for combat.

Gellert said: "Take off your clothes and shoes. Leave only your drawers on."

"Excuse me?!"

"You are going to be iron-like, but you are still going to sweat and your clothes and shoes can still be torn. I would have asked you to be fully naked from the start, but I feared you would have a fit, if I suggested it."

"We sweat on the way up here and we still didn't climb naked."

He cocked an eyebrow: "Do you want to climb down shoeless and dressed in tatters?"

"I could magically reinforce my clothes and shoes."

"That would be a waste of energy. Please, Albus, don't let your bourgeois notions of morality get in the way. Just keep your drawers on and let us carry on training. There is _noblesse oblige_ implied among sparring partners. I've trained with Uzume-chan while she wore nothing but a breast band and a loin cloth and I never thought of it as an invitation for intimacy outside of the _dōjō._ Besides, you said you were going to follow my methods unquestioningly."

I sighed: "Fine, fine, I should count myself lucky to be allowed to keep my calico drawers on. I should also count myself lucky it is summer here and that I wasn't wearing one of my union suits, you would have probably wanted me to take off that one too."

He laughed as he undressed: "Yes, take it off and burn it, not even my grandfather wore union suits. Do you really own one of those unseemly things, Albus?"

I began undressing too and replied: "I have two actually, and several pairs of wooly socks. I love wooly socks. Back home it gets chilly and I'd choose comfort over fashion any day, Gellert. I do not aspire to be a dandy. And I don't share the views of your teachers at Durmstrang about cold building up character. I've already had all the character building experiences I could want, without having to risk catching pneumonia, thank you very much."

It was his turn to chuckle for all reply. He moved right onto the lesson: "We'll go over some basic notions first. We will begin with how to stand: bend your knees and open your legs slightly that way you will be harder to topple. Losing your footing is a sure bet to lose a fight; balance is about understanding all forces acting over your body as you move. Are you familiar with the concept of center of gravity, Albus?"

"Yes, I'm familiar with mechanics, both the works of Archimedes of Syracuse and Sir Isaac Newton."

"Atta boy, of usual your center of gravity is within your hip area, when you bend your knees slightly your center of gravity drops lower. In combat, ideally, you want to be the person with the lowest center of gravity so you are the one tipping the other off balance. This is especially important when you are fighting a beast that is on all fours or has more legs than you. You want to ground yourself as you move, your hips and legs have to move with your upper body in order to go along with your center of gravity. You also want to keep your upper body over your center of gravity at all times or you will drop down like a sack of bricks. You don't want to lean too far forward while attacking, or you'll get counterattacked fairly easily. And if you are not properly grounded, then your attacks will be weaker. Now, see how I'm standing and do the same. Good. Show me how you do it. Good, that is really good."

I smiled: "I used to box with one of my former Muggle associates. He said a good boxer should be heavy in the fists and light on the feet."

"A wise Muggle, was he the same one who taught you how to pick pockets?"

"The one and only Messer Ciccone, _fils de rien _and Corsican, born in Ajaccio, just like Napoleon. Though how he knew where he had been born without any knowledge of either his mother or father is beyond me."

He laughed: "One of this days you must tell me all about the guy. Since you have a fair grip on balance, we can move onwards. You probably have enough notions on defense and range of attack, if you used to box. We will only need to adjust it to the usage of the weapon. I want you to picture a cylinder around you from your head until the beginning of your legs, with a circumference a little shy from the one you could make with your elbows on your waist and your forearms in a 90 degree angle to your arms. Adopt the position so you see what I mean. Right, now picture the cylinder: that is your block zone, you want to defend that cylinder, especially your face and neck for dear life. Now outstretch your arms as far as you can go, this may sound counter-intuitive, but you don't want to go far longer than that with a weapon, because you will offset your center of gravity. The advantage the baton is going to give you is to hit harder than you could barehanded, not to reach that much farther."

"That sounds fairly logical. If I go around flaying the baton wildly, as you have pointed out, it can get caught into something, I could hit you or hit me and I would be easier to disarm. Between the intrinsic hardness of the weapon, the smaller point of impact and the further extension and improved fulcrum I get with it, I will be able to hit harder, more precisely, hence inflicting more damage while exerting the same effort, which since I'm going to be weighting extra from being iron-like, serves me well. It is all a matter of leverage, levers amplify the output of force. Paraphrasing Archimedes: give me a baton long enough and a fulcrum on which to place it and I'll knock down a werewolf. My fulcrum is my elbow and that is also why the length of the baton is important to achieve the optimal force."

"As always it is a pleasure teaching someone who gets things right away. Fine, for how you should hold the baton: you want to make sure your grip..."

My good Elphias, I don't want to bore you anymore, let me spare you a full lesson on baton fencing and long staff _wushu_ and move right into..."

* * *

"No, this cannot be true! He makes us go through his disgusting dissertation on how fire crabs shoot out explosive poop and the painstakingly detailed account of him getting dirty with the Zoroastrian and he spares us the single tirade I was actually interested in? You got to be fucking kidding me!"

Ginny growled: "Ronald Bilius Weasley, language!"

Hermione cleared her throat: "The tirade is in this addendum, my love. Apparently he transferred some of the writing to make the diaries more readable. You can read through it on your own. Now, can the rest of us continue with the diaries?"

Harry pointed out: "I would like to read the addendum too. But Ron and I can go through it when the dragons show up. Unless you two are interested?"

Ginny shrugged dismissively, Muggle fighting was not that interesting to her. Hermione denied too and carried on reading.

* * *

We practiced that day and the next couple of weeks from the break of dawn until sundown, with only half an hour for lunch. Making our way quietly up and down the hill was also part of the training. If the training prolonged itself into the night, we were ready to set up camp. We slept on a magical tent, casting guarding spells and taking turns to stand guard, for Gellert said that learning not to sleep during guard duty was also training for the future. He taught me to breakfast with nuts, cured meat or cheese and some bread we carried in our pockets while walking, marching at the pace that would help us cover distance efficiently and undetected, a two man army on the move. I learned to find my way with next to no light and to track normal animals and magical creatures in the dark. He also taught me about the shadow walker skills I had unwittingly bargained for. He taught me to move undetected by magic and to hide my magical signature at will. We played a version of hide and seek, trying to best each other, alternating the roles of hunter and prey. Once on the hill, we practiced toppling bowling pins with different wands, baton fencing and wushu staff fighting. I must admit that after getting the tattoo some things seemed to come easier to me.

We took my last three days of lessons in a deserted beach. I was to learn to swim in my new iron skin. Gellert produced a sailboat from his pouch and asked if I knew how to sail, I replied that I didn't so he taught me that too. He did it as we talked about the dynamics of air, which are the same for sails as are at work on wings and parachutes. We talked about pulleys and vectors of forces being added to profit from the wind to move the vessel. We discussed about keel and the risk of capsizing as he taught me to move on deck. We happily reviewed Newton's three laws of motion as we made our way to the open sea, working the sailboat with the ease of an old crew. Everything was fluid and natural with him. Even air was easier to breathe when he was around.

For us those little chats were the same as the small talk of wooing couples, a pretext to get to know the texture of our minds and for falling ever more in love with each other. I couldn't remember a time before he was in my life and, frankly, I didn't want to. He had become the sun around which my world revolved and I was glad to bask in his warmth. Joy derived by his mere presence was ever enhanced by discovering how similar our interests and concerns were. I felt a kinship to him I had never felt before in my life, not with any other friend and certainly not with my family. Imagine someone who had thought of himself as the last member of a sentient species finding another survivor and you will begin to understand how being with him felt like.

Once sufficiently away from the coast the training began. I made myself iron, gave myself gills, got in the water feet first and sunk like a lead weight. Near the bottom of the Spanish sea Gellert joined me with gills of his own, laughing and saying that since I had sunk myself right away, he would begin by teaching me to use my lungs to adjust my buoyancy at will so I would be able to raise to the surface by effectively lowering my density relative to the water I displaced. I replied that I knew of Archimedes' Principle, and that it would work just like Jules Verne imagined _Captain Nemo's _vessel called _Nautilus _would work. He kissed me in rewards for knowing Verne. Back then I fancied myself smart, but nevertheless I could turn into a giggling idiot around him.

Then we moved on to changing body density since only the surface of my skin needed to be iron and I floated as a plank while I got it. The magical transmutation involve in changing your body's density is fairly simple, which is why no wizard has ever understood the Muggle fascination with walking over water. Gellert had chosen to practice first at sea for the denser salt water would help me with added buoyancy. You float because water is denser than you, the denser the water the easier you float. The trick of walking on water is either changing your density or the water's. For reasons that should be readily apparent most wizards achieve it by changing the water's density.

I was to do it by the far harder expedient of changing my own density. Water is a fairly dense liquid by itself: it has upthrust, for its high density means it can exert a lot of pressure pushing outwards in every direction, when a vessel, and that includes a redhead teenager turned into an iron plank, sits on water, partly submerged, the water pressure is balanced in every direction except upward. Ever felt as if water were supporting you from underneath? That is called upthrust and works to keep you afloat. If you are iron, relatively small and hit the water feet first presenting a narrow entry surface which creates far greater pressure, you sink, like I did, because water displacement cannot compensate for your weight. If you have a wider surface your own weight can help you displace enough water to keep you afloat. That is how iron steamers can float. As long as it is not too much weight, so you remain relatively denser than water, or else you will sink.

The calculations are pretty straightforward. Gellert and I ran the math as he taught me the magic. It took me some time to get it right, but I did. I've always been a good swimmer, adjusting to my new iron skin was not hard. We swam and practiced underwater until late that night. We had to set up camp in the beach. Somehow, during the night, we drifted into each other arms. We woke up, happy, ready to get on with the training.

Elphias, would you think me crazy if I tell you those were some of the happiest days in my life? They would also prove to be fruitful days of learning useful skills for the two Wizarding wars I've been involved in. Can happiness be ever devoid of at least a little touch of sadness? There is a cloud of prospective sadness looming over even our greatest happiness. Conversely, even the greatest sadness contains the seed of hope of future happiness in it. I'm nearing the end of a long life full with experiences of both conditions and I don't think I can answer that question yet. Perhaps no one is ever meant to. Though my intellect rebels against such notion of an unanswerable question, I have to make my peace with not being able to continue looking for it.

_AN: The missing paragraph may seem like a cheap plot device, I like to think it is not cheap and it is a plot device that will serve an important purpose later on. I am not trying to hoodwink you withholding important information, this is not listed as a mystery as the plot is canon, so please bear with me. _

_Talking about cheap devices… I was sorely tempted to be anachronistic and say Sherlock Holmes knew bartitsu back in 1899 because a club of the martial art combining cane fighting, savate, boxing and jujitsu actually was around since 1898. But Conan Doyle didn't mention it until 1903 when he brings Holmes back for The Adventure of the Empty House and has him say that he bested Moriarty at Reichenbach Falls thanks to his knowledge of tan-ta-da-dan: baritsu (sic). Yeah, dear Arthur misspelled it… Even Homer nods..._

_But nodding off is one thing and purposefully misdirecting is another. For example, getting the NEWTs highest mark wrong is nodding, readily amendable (I've already done it)… Using bartitsu while knowing it is anachronistic without at least addressing it is just wrong. I was so tempted, it's only a couple of years and it would have fitted in so nicely. I liked Gellert finding the reference and deciding to become like Sherlock. I wondered if I could get away with a future Gellert traveling back in time to give himself the book or use the seer card. My lovely punk devil whispered: "No one cares, remember the cool hooka skull in the movie that says 1898 Für das Grö__ß__ere Wohl when the phrase was supposedly coined by Albus one full year later? Two explanations come top of mind: the seer card or, Occam's razor: Gellert engraved the date and the phrase independently. So why can't you just put the reference to bartitsu in your fic? Use a disclaimer if it makes you feel better and stop being such a geek." But my geeky angel said: "If you feel you should not do it, don't. And when in doubt if you should, don't. In this case type I errors are worse than type II… Just don't."_

_As you might imagine, I'm trying to keep the science mentioned within the bounds of what was known back then, though I am stretching some things under the hypothesis that the greatest wizards of yore knew them. I like to think those wizards were a little less provincial than their post Statute of Secrecy counterparts and were interested in other things besides learning how to pronounce Leviosa to perfection, hence their spells were based on the actual observation of the world and that is what gave them power to create charms and artifacts that modern wizards cannot replicate. By the by, the fact that you need to pronounce to perfection makes me think spells are waves: two hints 1) It has to do with the relationship of frequency and wavelength 2) It has to do with constructive interference. Free tip, my take on how you beat unbeatable Avada Kedrava has to do with destructive interference. You can read on the science behind my claim in a separate fic._

_I also don't want to sound gender biased, but I'm basing the guy's reactions to discussing the intricacies of baton fencing on my own circle of friends. The guys were really interested, the gals weren't. I admit that they do not constitute a statistically significant sample, but, bad excuse, it's the one readily accessible to me... For the sake of brevity, I'm not including all the lesson in the chapter._

_I might post a tirade on fleshing out fighting scenes, I've already done it for some other topics, posting auxiliary writing to this fic, with the subjects of time traveling and thermodynamics, magical chess and dueling; the neuroscience of troubled romance and the psychology of power dynamics in captive- captor toxic relationships and the science in the killing curse. Yeah, I'm one sick puppy when it comes to researching for my fics, research taking up to 40 percent of my writing time… What can I say, I just love research and I enjoy descriptive kinetics. By the by, I am female, so there is always the rare bird._


	14. Sic Itur ad Astra

Chapter 14 Sic Itur ad Astra

"_Above all, don't lie to yourself. The man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie comes to such a pass that he cannot distinguish the truth within him, or around him, and so loses all respect for himself and for others. And having no respect he ceases to love, and in order to occupy and distract himself without love he gives way to passions and coarse pleasures and sinks in bestiality in his vices."__ Fiódor Dostoyevski (Brothers Karamazov 1880)._

_AN: Sorry for not updating earlier, the hubby and I had the first solo vacation in ages and turns out I need the angst of balancing hectic schedules for the whole family, housework and a demanding job to be able to write. Relaxing in lovely hotels with decadent spas is counterproductive for my creativity. I don't understand how that works either but there is a clear correlation. Kidding, frankly __I just got lazy. Oh, and heads up: I'm planning on changing the fic's name to Quintessence come chapter 15. I didn't write a word during the holidays but the hubby and I talked a lot about our thoughts on what magic could be like and the name Quintessence makes so much sense that I just cannot resist using it._

_Thank you narcissa's closet for reviewing and to all those reading. I'll try to explain the foreign words and phrases at the beginning of each chapter. Not all, but at least those relevant to understanding the plot. Some I might miss because at times I do it unconsciously. I'm not a native speaker, my mother tongue is Spanish. I grew up going from one country to another and I mix the languages I know all the time. My family is pretty much the same, so I'm used to getting away with it. I'll do by best not to overdo it. On that note scaphandre is French for a diving suit. Opa and yayo are, respectively, German and Catalan (from Valencia) affectionate words to call your grandpa. _

"_Sic itur ad astra" is Latin for thus one journeys to the stars. It appears in Virgil's Aeneid Book IX when Apollo addresses the son of Aeneas, Julius (from whom the gens Julia including Julius Caesar and Augustus claim descent): "Hail to thy virtue, young Julius! For thus one journeys to the stars." "Iulum: macte nova virtute, puer, sic itur ad astra." From there it tumbles like a pebble down the river of time until it reaches us with the best known version of the phrase: Per aspera, ad astra -through hardship__s__ reach the stars.- Hey, as long as we reach them that's fine by me; it will be 50 years ago on June 20th 2019 that the dream seemed reachable for the first time when we landed on the moon, my heart celebrates that very important first step._

I'm fully aware, my friend, that the way Gellert taught me is not the standard for magic teaching, but actually understanding how the world works helps you make magic in ways those going by instinct alone can't never ever accomplish. Concerned wizarding parents, who keep asking me for ways of helping their children get more powerful, never ever believe me when I tell them that picking up a Muggle book or actual observation of the world around them with some care and methodology can help their children become better wizards and witches. No, they want shortcuts, they want the latest foolproof wand movement manual or extra intonation classes, they want easy, they want familiar. I'm not sure they should want their children to be more powerful in the first place, for power has a price. Some think of me as the most powerful wizard alive, I've derived no pleasure from it and, despite having some vague ambitions in regards to it in my youth, I stumbled upon power quite by accident and at a cost that is, believe me Elphias, just not worth it.

Nevertheless, I don't shun all forms of power and for me knowledge is the best kind. I'm aware there are other ways, all equally valid, to make your way in this world and be happy, which should indeed be our highest aspiration. Yet, I think that curiosity and a love for learning are qualities that should be fostered in the formal education of our youth. I'm convinced that in opening new avenues of fulfillment to them, less unbridled but firmer, we help them become better human beings. Though I admit that I may be biased by my own way of attaining a measure of happiness and peace.

Ah, my friend, I do tend to ramble when the diaries are about to present a difficult passage. This one is particularly hard for me as it is a topic I've avoided for years. You can't possibly know Elphias how I'd wish we'd had time to have this conversation in person, instead of having a hurried chat through the Floo Network. After all these years of friendship you deserved better than a disembodied head inside your fireplace, but my time is short and getting shorter. I'm an old fool, getting all emotional writing about this. I should have figured out that openly telling you I'm gay was not going to make you walk away years ago. It took a century and a deathly curse for me to be able to do it. I wish I'd trusted our friendship earlier, but you of all people know that trust does not come easy to me.

It is selfish of me, but I'm also glad that now Farouk will have you to support him through what is coming. I don't think the vultures will dare go openly after him, but they are going to go after me and it is going to be hard for him not to respond to my detractors. By inclination and upbringing he upholds honor. But he shouldn't waste time trying to defend mine. The same goes for you Elphias, please don't write me an apologia. I only care that the people I love know I've always acted in good faith.

In regards to the barrage of rubbish that is going to be dumped on my already tarnished reputation, I'll give you the same advice I gave Farouk: don't bother with it. You knew me, the man, not the public figure, cherish the time we've shared as I do and let the rest be smoke. Or, better yet, enjoy the joke, even if it is on me. You've got to admit that some of these rumor mongers are enchantingly nasty comedians, Elphias. Whether that is their intention or not is inconsequential, for their endeavors are seldom worthy of anything but a good laugh.

We disarm hatred when we are able to fairly appraise it and oft times humor is the finest measuring scale for doing it. For my sake, when the tell it all bios began rolling in, laugh, my good old friend, just laugh. Oh Albus Dumbledore, you conceited fool, worrying about posthumous infamy. Compose yourself, for Merlin's sake! As Marcus Aurelius said, to be remembered is worthless. The good old emperor is not wrong and yet, I, for once, remember him fondly. I never really got to be the stoic I aspired to become. In any case, I won't deny myself the comfort of knowing some will remember me fondly. That is all that matters. Back to the story then.

On our last day of training, after I had mastered floating being iron, Gellert suggested we took the rest of the day off before we discussed the unforgivable curses in depth. We went sailing in the boat, just to enjoy the sea, the sun and the conversation. We swam and fished. We came back to the beach with the catch of the day and had a good dinner of grilled fish, with the only condiment of the salt it had soaked at sea and some olive oil. I loved the simplicity of that meal of freshly caught fish bathed in oil and a bottle of wine that Gellert had in his pouch to celebrate the end of this phase of my training.

When the sun went down we set up the tent and, after reading for a while, we laid out the sleeping sacks. We could have made the inner space big enough to use bunk beds, but Gellert insisted we practiced concealing our magical trace and that meant we had to use magic conservatively. Thankfully Earl Grindelwald was not one to spend money sparsely, the tent was very comfortable and we slept in the finest feather down bags. He informed me they were the very same kind Albert Mummery had used in his ill-fortunate mountaineering expedition to Nanga Parbat back in '95. Well, rather I say we slept over the bags, for the Spanish summer heat did not invite you to sleep tucked in.

We had done a fair amount of exercise while sailing, swimming and fishing; but we were not tired, for it was late and we were still chatting by the light of a kerosene lamp, lying on the sleeping sacks, dressed only in our chemises. He was laughing in that wild way of his about a joke I frankly don't longer remember, when I felt the impulse of kissing him. He kissed me back, nibbling at my lips, my neck, my earlobes, pressing his whole body against mine so we ended up rolling over the sacks, embracing with hands and feet, with him lying on top of me, breathless lips on breathless lips, caressing and caressed. After a while, when he tried to pull away, I pulled him back.

He groaned: "Albus, if we are going to stop, we need to stop right now."

I had to clear my throat roughly and then replied in one short rush of breath: "What if I am not sure that I want to stop?"

* * *

"Uh, luv, if the dragons are somewhere in there, I'd like to know with enough time to…"

"My dearest, be sure that I'll tell you if the warning is there."

* * *

He pulled away and laid beside me breathing like someone who has run for ten miles at top speed. When he caught his breath he sat down and said: "Well now, Monsieur Dumbledore, you've manage to confuse me. My friend, do you want or don't you want us to stop? I'd need some clarification here."

I had been laying with my forearm over my eyes, wishing there was some magic that could make you truly invisible, instead of merely cloaking you. I didn't want to face him but I didn't want to run away. I've seldom felt so confused. I sat down too and said: "The best answer I have is that I'm not sure... Can we just let it be? I had too much wine and tomorrow is going to be a trying day with the challenge to defeat Avada Kedavra. We might as well just go to sleep."

He frowned: "No, that won't do. You can't blame it on the wine we drank hours ago. We are both sober and we have a bloody time machine, we can sleep in and catch up later. Albus, I just can't keep this up. You pulling me in just to push me away is too darned frustrating and confusing!"

"You are not the only one confused and frustrated here!"

"That much is evident to me and yet, hard as I think about it, I cannot figure out what you are confused about. You say you knew fairly young that you liked men. I keep getting signals that you like me enough to be intimate with me. I have already told you I have feelings for you… Feelings that you seem to reciprocate and we both have been open about it. So why exactly do you keep pushing me away whenever we are about to act upon those feelings? Is it because my commitment to the cause of bringing down the Statute of Secrecy prevents me from offering you some long-term arrangement?"

"No I understand your commitment to your cause and I'm not delusional, I know that ours can only be an irregular arrangement. My reasons are personal and rather complicated."

"I'm not a dunce. I might understand, if you try to explain it to me."

"I…"

He sighed: "Please, Albus, be honest: What is the real issue here?"

I felt like crying but I also felt compelled to be honest with him: "If we have sex then it is real."

"What do you know? I am a dunce. I have not the faintest clue of what you are talking about."

I exhaled tiredly: "If I have sex with you then that's it, I'll be a sodomite."

He looked at me thunderstruck. Right when the silence was starting to feel uncomfortable he regained his voice and said: "Albus Dumbledore, never, ever use that foul word again. My friend, you are not a deviant and sex between men is not a sin. I even have trouble calling such notion an idea, but as much as it pains me, ideas can be wrong too. There need not be demons pouring poison in your ear for you to be attracted towards other men. It's just the way you are. I rather like the word coined by this chap Karl-Maria Kertbeny: homosexual, for it merely describes an inclination. And in that inclination you are in the good company of the heroes and emperors of yore and some of the greatest genius of all times. Having sex with me or not, is not going to change that. Even if you remain celibate your entire life you are still going to be exactly who you are. And you need not be ashamed for the way you are, least of all for who you desire."

I looked down and muttered: "That's not the conventional wisdom."

"The words conventional and wisdom don't go well together most of the time, Monsieur Dumbledore. Haven't we been through this?" He caressed my cheek: "You, my dear friend, are too unique to be measured by the pedestrian notions of normalcy that prudes apply to each other. Especially in the case that such notions are misinformed and vile."

"It's just that it all seems so unfair! Like being stroke by lighting twice!"

"_Az istenit!_ Have we fallen down the rabbit hole? We seem to be having parallel conversations here. You've lost me again."

"Life is unfair! All my life I've always felt ill-fitting. Precisely like Alice in Wonderland, I'm too big or too little to be just the right size to go through the bloody door into the garden. I wasn't good enough ridding a broom for my father to love me. I was too much like my father for my mother to love me. I was too smart not to see their flaws and yet I loved them so I tried to ingratiate myself to them. When I showed some aptitude for magic and got their attention, it only served to alienate me from my brother who has always felt my achievements are a conscious effort at belittling him. He hates me and, even if he vexes me, I love the little brute. I also love my sister, but she is a spoiled brat. At the same age I was successfully pretending to be a Muggle, she couldn't wait twenty minutes, twenty bloody minutes to let me say goodbye to my best friend before he went away to India! No, she had to have her way and she used her considerable talent to escape our home and do what she bloody wanted. She was one of the most gifted witches I've known but when the time came to defend herself or escape, she wasn't able to do either and she got badly hurt."

"Some people fight, some people run and some other are paralyzed by shock. And what you could do at six is something most adult wizards can't. You are not to be blamed for what happened to your sister, but neither is her for being attacked. She is a victim, Albus."

"I'm not blaming her for being attacked, but she knew she was not supposed to leave the house and she did. And yet, one could argue she was just following my example. I am burdened by that guilt and my sister is also paying dearly for her lapse of judgment."

"Pain has the ugly tendency of blinding us to anyone's plight but our own. Make an effort, my friend, look past your pain and you will see that blaming your sister is wrong. The unhealthy divide between magical and non-magical humanity is to blame. The Statute of Secrecy makes us all lesser and breeds attackers and victims on both sides, Monsieur Dumbledore."

I sighed: "You make a fair point there, but the discussion is academic. The fact remains that this girl may have lost her mind but she hasn't lost the need to have things her own way. Of course that was also thanks to my father's instilling her with a huge sense of entitlement for being the only one of us that looked like the Dumbledore of old… His blonde little angel. As if I had chosen my red hair before being born in order to spite him! It didn't help that mum felt guilty too. She spent most of our childhood ignoring us and, when life forced her to care, she decided to compensate her absence in the land of dreams by showering her younger children in toys and fancy clothes with the money I was hard pressed to earn. I always put myself last in order for her to be able to spend in stupid trinkets."

He patted my back: "It is hard to deny those we love, even when we should."

I managed to laugh derisively in between sobs: "The only time that I dared deny them, ended up with my sister throwing a tantrum that killed my mother. The worst part is that the girl is so out of it she cannot tell one dress from the other, as for new dolls, you just have to change the hair in the doll and dye and put some frills in the dress and she thinks they are new. But, of course, by then my mother's mind was ruined by the potions up to a point that she couldn't think of such a simple device to appease my sister. No, she had to tell her and my brother that their wicked older brother was using the money their dad had supposedly earned in Azkaban to travel the world while they were left destitute. I still don't know if she was just deluded or lying and cannot decide which would be worse. Either way it is not easy to know that your mum's last words were to call you a selfish pilfer. Regardless if it was delusion or lie, she paid with her life in the frenzy of rage that ensued."

"Dream inducing potions destroy the person's sense of reality, my friend. Her mean words were just the evils inside her mind speaking up. And I understand you had no choice but she wasn't right, she shouldn't have been left in charge of children. How could she be expected to handle someone as sick as your sister when she was barely able to take care of herself?"

"As you say I had no choice but the pauper house for her and the orphanage for my siblings and me, which was really no choice at all. And perhaps you are right about the dream potions ruining her mind, but those evils still came from her head and there must have been something in there to feed them. The only two persons who ever cared for me growing up were my grandpa and the Vicar, they both died during the same cough epidemic. Of my two early childhood best friends one was arrested for stealing a candlestick to feed his starving family; the other one was maimed by my father and is currently in the insane ward in St. Mungo. The last time I tried to visit him I found out that I've grown to look very much like the man who didn't think I looked like him enough. My friend was terrified to see me. There is no need to say that I'll never visit him again."

"I'm so sorry, Albus."

I frowned: "I don't have a right to feel sorry for something that I caused. My sorrow helps no one, not even me. I'm not aiming at eliciting sympathy. I'm just stating the facts. At school I was seen as too conceited, too smart, too poor, too bloody odd for anyone to get close to me. I ended up befriending the boy who was so green from the dragon pox that no one else wanted to go near him. I love Elphias, he is the most loyal friend I could wish for but, no matter how close we are, I cannot confess to him what I see as the final affront: Was I not sufficiently weird that even for my desires I am to be an outcast who can never hope to have a normal life and a family? What have I done to deserve this?"

I was sobbing uncontrollably by then. He embraced me and stroked my back until I was able to stop crying, then he whispered in my ear: "Whomever led you to believe that life is supposed to cater to your sense of fairness did you a great disservice, Monsieur Dumbledore. My best advice is that you do away with the notion."

I sniffled, be careful what you wish for. I had said I didn't want pity and, apparently, I was not going to get any from him: "Monsieur Grindelwald, it was a rhetorical question like all questions tossed to the skies. Mary Shelley having her Promethean monster confronting his creator Dr. Frankenstein is every wretched soul's fantasy that will never come to happen. Our creator doesn't bother to answer."

He pulled me closer, waved his wand and the cloth above our heads went transparent, he pointed to the stars above us: "Are you familiar with the nebular hypothesis?"

"Now who is having a parallel conversation? I'm pouring my guts out and you'd rather have us discus the night sky."

"If you answer me and let me finish my point perhaps you can see the relevance of the question."

I nodded sighing against his chest: "Yes, my Vicar bequeath me this book called: _Views of the Architecture of the Heavens_ by John Pringle Nichol published in 1837. It proposes that nebulae are new nascent solar systems and hence the stars we are seeing are indeed other suns."

He kissed my forehead: "That is all that is up there, Albus. Suns and other worlds revolving around them, more than we can count. Nothing is personal. There is no severe cosmic father or mother up there watching over us. No one is punishing or rewarding you. Least of all for who you love. We should rejoice that the childhood of mankind is at an end. The light of science will shine dispersing the darkness of atavist fears. The day has come in which we don't need to answer to anyone but our conscience. Whatever you do to yourself or to your fellow creatures in this sphere is your sole responsibility, my friend. And your intellect is more than enough to lead you to act fairly, without the need of a warden. I can't even tell you that I'd wish you hadn't suffered because, in your case, suffering has not twisted you into wickedness nor it has broken you. In your case suffering has strengthened you like the fire strengthens the iron soul of the sword. It has made you sharp and beautiful beyond words. Bed me or not, but know this: You love me, I love you and in loving each other we are not only not hurting anybody, but we further love in the world. Stop beating yourself up for being who you are."

His words were like a salve applied on old wounds. I know Grindelwald is a name associated with darkness, however with me he was always luminous and, dare I say it, even numinous for I was in constant awe of him. Even during the worst of it, when we were seeking to imprison or kill each other, he always treated me with the consideration afforded to an equal. Throughout most of our association Gellert showed the best of him to me. I am aware, Elphias that doesn't cancel out the terrible things he did, but I refuse to believe that there wasn't a measure of truth in the gentleness he showed towards me.

"I do love you and I do want you, please never doubt it. I just need some time to get used to the idea before we… proceed." I held his hand.

He caressed my hand softly with his thumb: "Just to open new avenues of thought to you, my friend, there a whole lot of pleasurable engagements we can try besides actual intercourse. And we don't have to rush into any of it. I can wait until it feels as right to you as it does to me."

"I can't help the sense of finality I attach to this decision. I need some time to build up the courage to take the plunge."

"I can wait. All I'll ask from you is not to push me too far until you have built up your courage. I'll also ask you to promise me this: even if you don't take the plunge with me, I need to know you will not deny yourself all your life. Living a lie can only lead you to tragedy. Albus, promise me you will stay true to yourself and try to be happy, regardless of what other people feel about it."

"You want me to promise you to try to be happy and true to myself?"

"Yes."

I chuckled: "That's awful generous and a bit presumptuous of you, Earl Grindelwald. You are aware you sound like the feudal lord saying to the lowly peasant: I command you to be happy, aren't you? I haven't lost the bet so you haven't slaved me yet." He looked at me with a raised eyebrow. I breathed in deep: "Fine, I promise you I'll do my best to be happy and true to me. There, are you happy?"

"Not really. I wasn't joking about my feelings of frustration, but I'll survive. Now, let us sleep, tomorrow we'll see if you have figured out how to vanquish Avada Kedavra."

"Let us sleep. But before we do, I just want to point out that the way you talk about the stars sounds a lot like Sabaism."

"Sabaism?"

"It was the worship of the spirits in the stars in old Mesopotamia. My Vicar used to mention it as a form of astrolatry when he talked about the birth of religious thinking. One may say you are not being forward but rather backward thinking, my friend."

"I don't need spirits inhabiting the stars to be marveled by them. If you are looking for a conscious universe, my friend, look in the mirror. Every sentient being is part of that consciousness. Sentient life is a brotherhood and it is worthy of humanistic worship." He went silent for a while, then he said: "But you are right in that the worlds above us hold a special place in my heart. I've already shared with you the horror that prompted my quest, perhaps it is time I share with you the vision that has kept me sane…"

"Maybe you should wait until tomorrow, a tent is not the best place for lighting up a hookah pipe."

"The hookah pipe is a just a devise to project the visions for a wider audience. It is also a way of impressing the uncultured. If it is just you and me any scrying surface will do, including your mind." He said placing a hand on my temple.

All of the sudden I was standing on a gray desert landscape, looking at a pale blue and white half sphere up in a black airless sky: "Sweet Merlin! What is this, Gellert?"

"Look closer and remember your Captain Grant, Albus."

"What does Jules Verne fiction has to do with…?" The image of the blue half sphere grew larger and I was able to make out the outline of South America and the bulge of West Africa. North America was a sliver covered in swirling clouds. I had indeed recognized the continents from the maps included in the books about the travels of the children of Captain Grant. I gasped: "Is that Earth?"

He nodded laughing softly: "A perspective from the moon, I think. Keep on looking, Albus."

I did and soon enough a figure appeared on my left, it took me some time but then I realized it was a man wearing an odd suit and helmet: "What is he wearing? Is it some sort of _scaphandre_ like the ones in _Captain Nemo's_ adventures but adapted to space?

"In English you call a _scaphandre_ a diving suit."

I shrugged: "I've only read Verne in French."

"Fair enough and I suppose the suit the man is wearing does work similarly to the proof-pressure suits invented in the 1830s by the brothers Siebe for marine exploration." He sighed: "As you said that is all fairly academic; but what I wanted to show you is the vision I turn to when the world gets too dark to handle. That image is to me the concrete expression of hope for mankind."

He took his hand from my head, I took it and held it between mine laughing: "So we are going to make it, we are going to go to the stars!" I muttered in a voice thick with emotion: "_Ad astra_. Thank you for sharing this with me. I'll treasure this image for as long as I live."

I've done it so far, even though I later found the prophecy was actually a composite of two different occurrences. The Moon is tide locket so Earthrise from its surface wouldn't have looked anything like what I saw. On August 18th of 1969, eight months after the image of Earthrise taken from the moon's orbit by the crew of the Apollo 8 made the cover of newspapers around the globe and about a month after men landed on the moon, I managed to get hold of a copy of the color photograph and sent it to Gellert in Nurmengard.

The feat took especial dispensations, which I only got thanks to being Hogwarts Headmaster and a distinguished member of the Wizengamot and the Wizards Confederation. Even then it wouldn't have been possible, if it hadn't been for the good offices of powerful friends who have always supported me even if they did warn me of the implications of sending a gift to the darkest wizard the world had known back then. This little feebleness of mine has been profited by my enemies in as much as they can, but I do not repent from it. First because you should never repent from an act of kindness. Second because that act of kindness benefits someone I'm foolish enough to love still to this day. I'm told that since receiving the photograph Gellert Grindelwald has kept it on a wall of his cell. I hope, Elphias, the image helps him now as it did back then.

He held my neck and caressed my hair: "I keep telling you the future is not written in stone. Going to the moon is a possibility beyond Jules Verne stories, my friend, if we manage to avoid destruction."

I nodded serious: "Then we shall not fail, Monsieur Grindelwald. We won't let the world be destroyed before we get to the moon."

He let me go and chuckled mischievous: "Are you saying that afterwards the world can go to hell?"

"No, of course not, what I mean is that I was already committed to your cause for the fairness I saw in it, but now you have my enthusiastic allegiance. My teachers always told me that going to space is impossible for magic does not work well there, but now I know that humanity has a chance to make it through Muggle science. It is a magnificent thought!"

We embraced and he sighed: "My teachers told me the same, but that is precisely why knowing Muggle science is so important. There is one knowledge. The separation is artificial and product of the Statute. If we defeat it, then humanity can be unstoppable. I won't say more for we have a bet pending. Let us go to sleep for now."

"Gellert."

"Mmmh?" he replied sleepily.

"Would you think me a monster, if I asked you to sleep like this?" Sometimes, Elphias, all you really need is a hug. Besides I knew the next day things were going to be difficult and not necessarily in the way that Gellert expected.

He half rose chuckling: "I won't think you a monster for that; but, are you aware, Monsieur Dumbledore, that in Latin monster comes from_ monstrum _which is a portent? In that sense of the word I figured you for a monster after laying eyes on you the first time. Much as your Zoroastrian friend, I was taken aback by visions of all that could come to pass with the descendant of Merlin who walks through possible futures like a knife cuts through wax."

I cuddled up to him and muttered: "Like you seers are ones to talk about freaks of nature."

"A freak can be a portent but not all portents are necessarily freaks. If you and I are to be portents, we wouldn't be like two-headed calves. No, we would be like Titans walking the earth in command of the elements and even of death itself. But we'll wait until tomorrow to get a start on that."

I was half asleep so I didn't answer him. It had been a long day. I felt more at home with him inside a tent in the middle of nowhere than I had ever felt with my family. Sleeping in his arms not only felt right, it felt meant to be.

He wasn't in the tent when I woke up and I felt a tinge of panic at his absence, until I heard him moving outside, he had built up a campfire and was preparing breakfast Muggle style. His _opa_ had been quite the sportsman, Grandpa Grindelwald had liked to go camping, mountaineering, fishing and hunting using Muggle equipment and weapons. And almost as soon as Gellert could walk he had taken his grandson with him. I don't doubt we were out there because it was the best place to practice, but he enjoyed communing with nature and, after a while, so did I.

Of course Gellert still managed to be outdoors with style. Monsieur Grindelwald liked to start the day with bread, jam and butter to accompany the strong coffee he drank and he wasn't willing to change his habits just because we were living in the woods. While we practiced he baked these wonderful Viennese rolls he called _kaisersemmel_ in a Dutch oven over an open fire, so we would have a fresh supply in the morning. For breakfast the only savory he added were cold cured meats or fried bratwurst sausages. For me he scrambled eggs and made porridge. Keeping a cloaking spell on the pouches was almost as strenuous as actually having to carry the supplies ourselves at first, but I had gotten the hang of it. Magic is like a muscle, concentrated effort helps strengthen it. And I must admit it was worth it.

Let me take some time, Elphias, to tell you about Gellert's coffee. I think it is illustrative of his character. As soon as he woke up he began making it, and it was quite the ritual. He grounded the grains in a Peugeot coffee mill that his _opa_ had bought back in 1840, when they first became available, and that was still in perfect working order fifty nine years later. He brought the water to a boil in the pot, took it out and let it sit for thirty seconds he measured clock in hand to guarantee the temperature was just right. Then he added the coffee, stirred the grounds in the water, allowed the pot to sit for two minutes, stirred again, allowed it to sit for another two minutes and then sprinkled cold water to help the grounds settle. And then he decanted the pot and slowly poured the coffee in his mug. It had to be done exactly like that or it wasn't right. And he went about it every single morning we were out there to make sure his coffee was just the way he liked. I tried to drink a cup one morning, I only drank about half of it and found it so strong that my hands trembled until after midday. From then on I stuck to tea.

I got up, got dressed and went into the woods to take care of some business, then I washed my hands and my face in the river, joined him beside the fire and poured some boiling water in a tin mug with a tea strainer filled with green tea. The green tea had been grounded into a fine dust that left a murky slosh in the bottom of the mug, but that was the only kind of tea Gellert had in his home. It was a gift from the Japanese witch he corresponded with. I prefer Earl Grey with a slice of lemon, and I'm sure if I had asked, he would have had Vladislav bought some; but I was not used to ask for what I want.

Self-denial is a hard habit to quit. I'm a bit better about asserting my needs nowadays, but I still have trouble with some things, like sending food back in restaurants. It is a personal triumph that I don't longer feel obliged to eat charred steaks or salty dishes... for the sake of strangers. I still do it for friends. Not having to eat Poppy's fruitcake this Christmas is one thing I mentally list among the things I won't miss when I'm gone. Bless Madame Pomfrey, she is such a gifted healer, Elphias, that St. Mungo keeps trying to get her to handle their magical bugs ward. The letter arrives every time they review the positions. But her fruitcakes are only good to use as door stoppers and those brandy soaked raisins she puts in them are a twofold sin against grapes.

The only one who truly enjoys them is Rubeus. Bless his soul. When he began baking rock cakes, I felt tempted to ban candied fruit and raisins from Hogwarts altogether. I might have to put up, thanks to the Board of Governors' interfering, with having ghosts among the faculty and not being able to teach Muggle science or make Magic Theory and Arithmancy mandatory subjects, but as Headmaster the arbitrary pettiness of banning a type of food would be within my attributions, and if I were the despot people make me out to be, I'd start with banning raisins.

I'm rambling nervously again. My good friend, what you are about to read has the potential to be used for doing so much wrong that I'd probably should have burnt at least this part of the diaries when I had the chance, but I think it goes to show how far I was willing to go for Gellert after only having known him for a few weeks, so I'll leave out specifics that could make this into a usable manual to take over the Wizarding World, but I'll leave in all the rest.

I was rinsing the plates, mugs and pots in the river when Gellert sat beside me and said: "Now tell me, Monsieur Dumbledore, are you ready to take on Avada Kedavra?"

I smiled, while continuing washing the dishes: "I'm as ready as I'll ever be, Monsieur Grindelwald."

He smiled back: "Then by all means, please do."

I drew a deep breath in, just like I always do when I'm about to leap in the water: "Before we do, I have to know something for my peace of mind. Gellert, if I ask you point blank are you going to be honest with me?"

"I've lied to you as little as reasonably possible, Albus."

"Sweet Merlin! I'm going to guess that passes for an honest answer with you…" He shrugged and I sighed: "Fine, I'll ask my question anyway. Do you do this with all of your associates, Gellert Grindelwald?"

He tensed besides me: "I'm not sure I understand what you mean."

"Then allow me to explain. After giving some thought to it, which, believe me, hasn't been easy because when you are around my head doesn't seem to work alright; I've come to realize that this exact moment has been an aim in your grand design all along." I paused, but he was attentively listening to me: "You are not going to try to deny having a grand design?"

He narrowed his eyes: "What would be the point of that? I may conceal tactical or strategic information from you for the sake of pursuing my aims, but be certain that I respect your intelligence too much to outright lie to you. Go on, Monsieur Dumbledore."

A really childish and stupid part of me felt flattered by that answer. I sighed: "Very well then. I don't have a full understanding of what you are doing or why you are doing it. I'm not sure if you are joking about having me pledge allegiance to you, perhaps even through some magical mean, if I don't manage to defeat Avada Kedavra…" I paused to let him comment, he didn't: "But what has become evident to me is that you have been trying to lead me to this moment all along. You've been setting up test after test and you have also told me a part of your plans to create a Magical Council through meritocracy only so that we could end up right here where we are. And I can't help but wonder, if you do this with each one of the potential members of your Magical Council and..." I sighed: "I also wonder how much of us, if indeed there is an "us", may be part of the design…" I went silent.

"You are the first one to ask. People usually enjoy feeling especial. Not one of them doubted they were The Chosen One. In fact they were befuddled when they found out there were more. It is a pity, my friend that you don't enjoy being especial, even though you are in many ways one of a kind."

My heart sank to my feet: "So there have been others you've done this with..."

He nodded: "Yes, there have been others, seven so far, if you need an exact number."

Frankly, Elphias, I could have done without knowing that figure. I muttered: "Seven, you have recruited seven over the course of just a couple of years. Merlin's beard, Gellert!"

Whatever I had given, had been freely given and it entitled me to expect nothing from him. And nothing was also exactly what he had promised me. Even if our relationship hadn't been irregular by the very nature of it, I had no right to feel betrayed, but I did. I felt so betrayed.

"To be frank, my aim is to have thirteen, I think the number is evocative. Right now there are nine of us counting you and me. Let me clarify that all I'm aiming to is to institute a Magical Council as the rule of the land. You are the one who fantasizes about Burtonian harems."

"That is insulting! You know full well that all I've ever done is fantasize. I don't have a trail of past lovers cataloged in a sketch book, Gellert Grindelwald!"

"Neither do I, Albus Dumbledore. And what you are implying of me is not exactly flattering, nor is it true. The trail of boys and girls behind me is neither as long nor as dire as you make it seem. You are making me a fiend when I've never used deceit in any of my affairs. I always make what can be expected of me perfectly clear. I've never deceived neither lovers nor allies as to what I'm willing to give or take. That includes you."

"That much is true, you use the forewarning as a weapon. I found out about the drawings of your boys and girls because you told me, so I cannot very well claim to be surprised. Isn't that the perfect set up?"

"I've had liaisons and I keep portraits of some of my partners, but, despite what you seem to think, there haven't been enough that I need to keep a catalog of them. Besides, my intimate friends and my collaborators do not overlap, present case excluded. Seduction is not a good method of recruitment when what you need are intelligent people who can help bring about the rule of reason. Of usual I don't lack options for sex partners, Monsieur Dumbledore, so I prefer to keep my affairs undemanding and my co-conspirators loyal. Intimacy tends to complicate things and a scorned lover is a betrayal waiting to happen. Which brings us back to us: I have already told you that you caught me entirely by surprise. What is happening between us is something I've never experienced before, I've already told you that and I haven't given you any reason to doubt it. Also, what transpires among us leaves me as vulnerable as it leaves you and, as much as I enjoy our relationship, I positively hate feeling vulnerable. That would never be part of any design of mine."

"I don't know if I can believe you, not anymore. Each time that I've caught up to the fact that you are not being straightforward with me, you have acted unfazed and asked me to keep trusting you on the promise of being honest going onward. How can I really trust you if that alleged honesty of yours lies always out of reach in the future? Judging just by your past actions, I'll tell you that constantly testing someone and withholding information are not considered the acts of an honest man, Gellert."

"Well, there is not much I can do about it, you either trust me or not. I can't force it out of you, Albus. There is no magic that can do that."

There is nothing that can make us meaner than being hurt. Pain and misery are the kind of things that like to be spread around, like breeding cockroaches. I wanted to hurt him as much as I was hurting: "You cannot force trust out of me, but we could force truth out of you." I said pulling out a vial from my pouch.

He scoffed: "Really, Albus, you would have me drink _Verita Serum_? Do you carry that around or did you brew it specially for the occasion?"

I didn't answer: "What about the bet? Would you have really made me the subject of a magical binding? For the life of me I cannot figure out if you jest about slaving me or if you truly mean it. But if the bet is real, we already know what you win, if I fail. However, if I succeed, this is what I want from you: the truth for a change, even if it comes from a bottle." I shook the vial in front of his mismatch eyes.

"Why this now? You crossed a loyalty ring and made an unbreakable oath right after meeting me. What has changed, Monsieur Dumbledore?"

"You were a stranger and I was a shallow fool to trust you just based on your looks. Perhaps I'm an even bigger fool, but now I love you and I need to know that what is happening between us is real."

He snorted harshly, his eyes sparkling golden: "Fine, if drinking _Verita Serum_ is what you need to believe in my good faith, so be it. Let it be known that I would have never cast a binding spell on you. If I've ever withheld information or put you to the test, it was only to protect you. I don't know what I would do if you were hurt. But let me be perfectly clear, my friend, that the sin will be its own penance. If you inflict this on me, then you are in fact inflicting it on that "us" which you were allegedly so concerned about. Mistrust breeds mistrust and once the line has been crossed, we won't be able to go back. Think about this, ponder if that is what you want for us."

I bit my lip, doubting: "Merlin's beard! How is it that you always manage to shake the foundations of what I think I know about right and wrong? I don't know what to do!"

He smiled: "I'm sorry my friend, you need to come to a decision alone." He sighed: "But perhaps this can help you: ask me anything and I'll swear upon the family name that I will answer truthfully."

"You weren't serious about slaving me?"

"Of course not, Albus, I didn't know you thought it was real! Who'd enter a bet that only states what one of the parties pays if they lose without imposing an equal bargain on the other party? Not even Sir Galahad is so pure to accept such bet!"

"Or so stupid… I'm so sorry, Gellert… You seem too good to be true and I'm not used to having good things in my life. Not to mention that it has all happened so fast and it seems at times so farfetched. A part of me still doesn't believe that I'm here with you, before we have even met in our time, it makes everything seem unreal and harder to grasp." I said looking down.

He grabbed my chin, made me look up and lightly kissed me: "I'm not surprised you have trouble trusting anyone, given your past. I also understand time traveling can be discombobulating, it is very easy to get lost in a sense of unreal. And you are not the only one who doesn't know what to make of us. I've never felt so close to someone who is not my blood. I've grown up surrounded by loving family and acquaintances, but I've never found anyone with whom I felt the kinship I feel with you. After a lifetime of hearing people complaining that I'm going too fast for them to follow, you always seem to be able to catch up to me and at times you've managed to make me have to strive to follow you. Everything seems to flow naturally between us. It is as if we had been together for a very long time. When I read Plato's Symposium I honestly thought his Aristophanes had eaten a bad mushroom when he came up with the crazy idea of humans once being twofold and being split in punishment by Zeus for an attempt against the gods. I used to laugh at the concept of soul mates; but with you I'm starting to see the point. At times talking with you feels like talking to myself. So I tend to assume we are on the same page, when it stands to reason that sometimes we are not."

"I feel the same way about you. It is exactly as Aristophanes says in his discourse_: 'After the division the two parts of man, each desiring his other half, came together, and throwing their arms about one another, entwined in mutual embraces, longing to grow into one.'_ So I tend to make assumptions about you and when the image of you that I have in my head doesn't match with who you are, I get all suspicious… I shouldn't, it is not as if we were really two halves of one being… That's a silly notion."

"It is alright, just let us agree that from now on we won't make assumptions about each other, and let us talk things out before they blow up. Now, allow me to dispel a notion that I find particularly distasteful; the idea that I'd sleep with anyone just because I like both men and women. Here is where I stand: I like some men and some women, even some people who resist clear-cut categories, but that does not mean that I cannot be faithful, if that is what you fancy. And it does not mean that I don't have standards. I do, perhaps even more astringent than those who are drawn to someone based only on their gender and their looks. So stop assuming I'm a roving beast that will pounce on anything that moves in my immediate vicinity, it is deeply insulting."

I blushed: "That was not my intention, Gellert. I didn't mean to be insulting."

"Food for thought Albus: If you don't mean to be insulting, don't be. And if you don't believe I'm inconstant, then don't act as if you do." I was about to protest but he didn't let me: "Let us not dwell on it: I forgive you. And let us forget all about the bet too, I'll tell you straightforward how to defeat Avada Kedavra."

I sighed: "Don't let me spoil the game. I've been thinking much about this and I'd like to tell you my thoughts on it before you reveal your secret weapon. That is, if you still want to play with me." I smiled sweetly: "The least I can do by ways of apologizing is entertain you a while."

"It will take more than a disagreement to make me stop wanting to play with you. And your thoughts on any matter are as fascinating to me as my _opa's_ old naturalist cabinet. I spent a good many afternoons perusing drawers full with all sort of interesting specimens and paraphernalia. Roaming through the nooks and crannies of your mind is reminiscent of it and has become one of my favorite entertainments."

"Then sit down, Monsieur Grindelwald and let me tell you how I think you can defeat Avada Kedavra and I'll even throw how to defeat Crucio into the bargain, after all, they are basically the same spell."

He looked startled at me for a couple of seconds then he said: "Well I'll be…" and laughed raucously in the way that made my knees feel weak.

_AN: Uh, I'm not that good at self-promotion, but in case you are interested, I've written a series of Snape and Lily one shots inspired by Goethe's Bride of Corinth. Just two are up, for the time being, but I'll definitely do more. The hubby is a fan of __Johann Wolfgang and has made me one too. _

_I'm so glad that some people are actually enjoying the quotes. I feared that I was coming off as pretentious, when my love for ideas is as pure as it gets. I found most of the source material used to head the chapters in my yayo's – my grandpa's- library. The one he originally had was burnt to the ground during the Spanish Civil War, but ideas are so much tougher than paper._

_My yayo was one of my favorite teachers. He was self-taught but had a wide array of interests, a very sharp mind and a sound methodological approach to pursuing them. Even during the nomad years we always had room for one more book. My yayo rebuilt his library, little by little, and in the process taught us to love books and the thoughts in them. In fact, it is his voice that I hear reading most of the quotes. He is also the one who taught me to always try to verify and credit my sources and, of course, to question them. It would have pleased him to know that people are still being touched by the thoughts he loved enough to leave his homeland when he was no longer allowed to read or discuss them. If he were around, I bet this would make him smile._

_Now, honor where honor is due. My yayo was the one who said: We disarm hatred when we are able to fairly appraise it and oft times humor is the finest measuring scale for doing it. He lived through the WWI post-war. His father was dead and my yayo had to work his fingers down to the bone doing thousands of these small cords that put together made ropes that could anchor ships. He lived as a young man in Málaga during the bombing in which the Nazi tested the bombs that they would later use in London. He lived through the Spanish Civil War as young adult and was conscripted by the fascists first and then joined the republican resistance. He lived through the WWII, when he did no longer have a country of his own, trying to make his way out of Europe. My yayo lived in exile most of his adult life, he knew hatred well, but he never fell prey to it and his good humored, kind laughter is what I remember the most about him. Putting his words in Albus Dumbledore's mouth felt right._

_What follows is a rant on my reasons behind the use of a certain slur in this chapter, please feel free to skip it. __I was a bit weary of using the word sodomite, but in the context of the time I'm representing and the views on same-sex relationships back then it made sense. Still, it felt wrong and I feel defensive, especially after giving in to the dragon scheme. I'm openly bi and usually a very vocal LGBT rights advocate… So even if I am doing the dragon thing with the best intentions at heart for an ace friend, who feels bombarded by references to sex. And, even if I think there is nothing fundamentally wrong with letting people choose to skip those bits, I have mixed feelings about it._

_Unfortunately, in this day an__d__ age in which causes have been sequestered by extremists on both sides of the political spectrum, and pseudo-science and fallacies are used to put forward arguments for indefensible causes, it is so hard to stand your ground on issues, at times it seems we are all walking on quicksand or on eggshells. To get to the point: I felt so wretched about using the slur that I began writing a justification rant. I was halfway through it and then I thought: What the hell, Merc? I decided that I wouldn't defend a choice I made simply to give historical verisimilitude to a character, who must have had a hard time overcoming the self-hatred instilled by his time and his upbringing… That is the purpose the slur serves in the fic._

_And yeah, I realize I kind of have been defending myself in the light of political correctness… Darned liberal guilt! I passed a couple of weeks debating and didn't post it until I was able to come to a decision. I'm sticking to my guns and using the disgusting word because: 1) yo__u__ can't change the future by sweeping the past under the rug. The slur was used and the fact that some gay people still use it to describe themselves when they are going through the struggle of figuring out their identity makes it, for me, something to be addressed. 2) Censorship does more damage than good and more often than not silence only serves those we should be denouncing. For example, the only ones who benefit from banning the names of the likes of Hitler or Stalin from social networks are those bastards, because then people forget why they deserve to be called bastards. 3) Discussing issues with openness may do the trick: discussing the past may prevent us from walking the same damned path all over again. Should anyone be truly offended by my use of it, all I ask is that you pause, take some emotional distance from it and try to see the context and the spirit in which I'm using it in._


	15. Conquerors of the Death Curse

Chapter 15 Conquerors of the Death Curse

"_Rule 1: Power is not only what you have, but what the enemy thinks you have. Power is derived from two main sources- money and people. Have-Nots must build power from flesh and blood."__ Saul Alinsky in Rules for Radicals: A Pragmatic Primer for Realistic Radicals (1971)_

_AN: I'm renaming the fic, which is kind of ironic since this chapter actually deals with blood. Truth be told, I was never sold on the name Thicker than Blood, but I dragged what was a working title for 15 chapters for lack of anything better. Now I'm using an old concept called quintessence that has been rehashed in modern physics as an alternate name for dark energy and dark matter. It isn't the first time we use quintessence to stand in for the unknown. And since some propose dark matter-energy is related to a fifth fundamental interaction, it could very well be used to explain magic. _

_This was a hard chapter to write, I didn't want to make it an essay, but -professional hazard- I do tend to write those. I'll probably have to go back and trim it quite a bit and I will, eventually. Lord knows that I could rant endlessly about magic and science. However, I do understand some won't find it as fascinating as I do, so I won't. But, if you want, you can read more about it in my profile. Thanks for follows, favorites and reviews. Doubts, critics and kudos are always welcomed._

My good Elphias, as any other aspiring magical theoretician by the time I graduated Hogwarts I had already thought about the matter of unforgivable curses. I had even wrote my thoughts with various degrees of formality, though I knew full well there was no way to publish any of it. And, pardon my lack of modesty, like any magical theoretician worthy of the name, I was very much aware that there is nothing unbeatable about them. Anything man made can be man undone. But I was also very much aware that the most effective and efficient way to deal with them is avoiding being cursed by them.

Sounds obvious, doesn't it? Well it is not. Most wizards and witches can't even conceive getting into a fight. Those who do usually can do little about it because most wizards and witches lack prowess and speed to defend themselves from such powerful curses. Mind you, my friend, despite of the accusations that I manipulate others to fight my fights, even children, it has never been my intention to encourage anyone to engage in dueling. One fights when one is left no choice, period.

Real fights -and any affair of a violent nature for that matter- are rather more straightforward than what people whose sole information on the subject comes from the fanciful descriptions in books and tall stories told in pubs may think. First and foremost you should avoid getting into a fight and, if it is unavoidable, in most cases your best bet is disarming your opponent and, or escaping. If you can't manage to do either and are facing someone powerful and evil enough to be able to cast Avada Kedavra, my first instinct would be to throw a big boulder in the way of the ray and then disapparate.

I'm sure that it will come as a surprise that infamous duelist Albust Dumbledore favors running from a fight… But that is my best advice on it. Of course that also requires you to have enough skill to cast a spell with only the few seconds that those curses leave you to react. That being said, I was willing to indulge Gellert and try to figure out how to defeat the perceived unbeatable unforgivable curses because I also understood what he was really aiming at when he said that.

Gellert Grindelwald is a complex character but no one, dead or alive, would ever call him idle. He was not into daydreams and rhetorical discussions unless they could ultimately serve a purpose. And in this case it must be rather obvious what use it could serve to have a workable method for defeating the unforgivable curses which could work for the average wizard. If any magical nation managed to get hold of it, it would mean an undeniable strategic advantage. Imagine an army against which the most powerful curses at your disposal won't work.

I won't lie in these memoirs and try to hide the fact that I was fully aware of it and that it was with that objective in mind that I had been trying to figure out how we could do it. Cocky fool that I was, I shared my thoughts on it with a boy whose good intentions I doubted even back then as if I were presenting a dissertation in front of the Cabal in the Department of Secrets. I was drunk on pride; and on love too, perhaps that last part is enough to redeem me, and then perhaps it isn't.

"First let us dwell on your intentions in devising a methodology to defeat Avada Kedavra, Monsieur Grindelwald. It is clear to me that you, being as powerful as you are, are not talking about a way of personally protecting yourself against it. I don't think that you are really concerned about that. So what is it that you are really aiming for? That is the first question I had to answer."

He smirked: "So you have already figured it out."

"Please Gellert, I may not be privy to all your convoluted plots, but this one is rather obvious."

He rose an eyebrow: "Is it? I must be losing my touch."

I shrugged: "Maybe. It is not hard to imagine what a blow to morale it would be to have a battle against a magical army that is impervious to what has been the single most powerful spell since its conception back in the 14th century. Ever since then it has been only because all the elite warlocks of every civilized magical nation can cast it that none was able to overpower the others. Peace is kept through a stalemate. The acute fear wizards have of coming to harm guarantees there are not many willing to enter a life and death battle, cooperation to weed those who are takes care of the rest."

"The Black Death played no small part in it, my friend. The outbreaks back in 1347 and 1351 were particularly harsh on the Wizarding World since wizards had grown accustomed to being for all purposes immune to Muggle sickness. With the wizarding population decimated and the measures taken by proactive ignorant idiots towards protecting the so called bloodlines with inbreeding, they ended up weakening magical prowess worldwide. That was the beginning of the end, we wouldn't be cowering in a hole otherwise."

I hummed: "That is actually an interesting hypothesis that I'd very much would like to explore later on from a scientific point of view. Though I'm weary that it sounds like it may support those idiotic blood purists, it makes it seem as if blood somehow has bearing in power so it is a double edged sword."

"_Na gyerünk_, Albus, inbreeding has a bearing in the health of the offspring, any horse or dog breeding enthusiast will attest to it. Humans don't enjoy especial privileges as far as Nature is concerned."

"I'm just saying that you'd have to be very careful of the phrasing on that one, my friend. Blood purists don't talk about dogs, but about humans and you must admit the ethical stakes of it are higher. For now let us go back on topic and let me just say that being able to find a method that would allow average wizards to render useless what has come to be regarded as the ultimate weapon might do the trick and let you win without too many casualties. I can see in my mind's eye a series of concerted lighting attacks that end up with all key magical governments surrendering… And those nations that don't fall in the first wave will think it twice before defying you. When you beat the unbeatable then you become the unbeatable. You still have to handle the Muggles, though..."

He made me stop by laughing out loud and grabbing my hands: "_Az_ _istenit_, Albus! Bravo! You are the first one among all those whom I've recruited that readily sees the path to conquer the world. The rest just focused on the procedural part of defeating the curse. Most got even that one wrong. The only one who bothered to wonder why I was so set on it was Uzume-chan, and even she didn't go as far as figuring out both things or worrying about the Muggles, which you shouldn't I'll handle that."

Something about the mention of the Mahoutokoro witch irked me. I pulled my hands away: "Don't get your hopes up. You still don't know if my method will work and I still think your objective is rather obvious. Not to mention that I think it will be harder to conquer the world than it is to talk about it."

"Well, thankfully, it is not obvious to most and if you say you have it, my bet is you do. How droll! You even call the powerful, concentrated attacks to break defense lines lighting attacks, I came up with this tactic I call blitzkrieg: lighting war..." He grabbed my cheeks: "It is uncanny. You are too perfect. Are you sure you are not just a figment of my imagination?"

I shrugged, pulling away again, though more gently: "As sure as it is reasonably possible to assert one's own existence. I guess the good old _I think therefore I exist _won't work, if the problem is that I think too much like you. Which could very well make you the figment of my imagination. But that is too deep a philosophical inquiry so early in the morning. I guess we can just say we are birds of a feather."

He smiled wide: "Birds of a feather is too weak. You feel like kin to me, why don't you marry me, Albus and make that kinship real?"

I couldn't help laughing: "My good man your narcissism is acting up! Do you really want to marry someone you see as a mirror reflection of yourself?"

"How rude! Is that a gentlemanly way to reply to my heartfelt proposal, Monsieur Dumbledore?"

"I don't think it is necessarily wrong to reply rudeness in kind and to joke about such a delicate matter, well, it is the very definition of rudeness. The only possible reply for a true gentleman is either laughing or demanding reparations. You've been beating me all week, so pardon me if I'm not eager to give you another chance of doing it, Master Grindelwald."

"The last couple of days you've won as much as I have. And I'm not joking, I'm serious. You agree with me that you and I feel as if we were soul mates. Soul magic is generally regarded as the most powerful, isn't it obvious why I am trying to secure that a sizeable part of my soul -who someone, either chance or a mocking deity inconveniently dotted with free will- remains by my side?"

I laughed louder: "Please Monsieur Grindelwald, you've already stated you don't believe in god and that you make your own fortune. What are you trying to do, make me laugh till my belly hurts? I just had breakfast." I chided: "You shouldn't joke about soul magic, some see it as the darkest art of all..."

He grabbed my hands and looked at me: "I'm dead serious, Albus."

"Sweet Merlin, stop this Gellert… It is starting to bother me."

"I don't see why."

I sighed: "Fine, let us say for a moment that I entertain the notion that your proposal is not a joke… Then pray tell me how should I reply to an offer that cannot be carried through?"

"What do you mean it cannot be carried through?"

I was losing my patience again, so I got up and walked: "Do I need to spell it? Two men cannot get married, Gellert. It's against all laws, both wizarding and muggle. It would be the same as if I proposed to you that we Apparate on the moon to have high tea. It is not doable, so the proposal is either joke or insult there is no way around it! So what is it then?"

He got up shrugging: "Neither. You are telling me that you see how we could take over the world but you don't realize that means we will be the ones who dictate the laws, my friend?"

"But I thought that you said we are aiming for a more equal society, how do you reconcile that with the sort of government in which the rulers set up laws for their personal gain?"

"This wouldn't just apply to us. Don't you see that the same rights for everyone is a requisite for the kind of world we are aiming for? We want a world in which everyone can be happy with whomever they want. How does that oppose to the hope for the future that I've shared with you?"

I bit my lower lip: "I guess it doesn't. But you must at least admit that this impulsive proposal cannot be serious, my friend."

"I'll admit that lacking the means presently to carrying it through, it may be premature to ask it of you right now, but at least consider it as a personal goal to aim for."

I laughed again. I just couldn't stay angry at that boy: "Personal goal, he says. You, Earl Grindelwald, are one conceited man… What makes you think that you would be my only suitor when and if the circumstances change?"

"Confidence is part of my charm. And you are the one who is hung up on monogamy, I can do with or without. Have as many suitors, lovers or whatever you want to call them as you want. I've never been scared of a spot of competition. Mainly because I'm used to win. See, I'm quite confident none will be able to take your affections away. I'm sure you won't find anyone who fits you better than I do."

"See, conceited, but it is part of your charm, and just for that I'll accept you as a suitor when and if the circumstances do change. I'll go as far as reserving the waltz in my dancing card just for you."

"I can agree with that, as long as it is each and every waltz. Would you be willing to agree on that?"

I sniggered: "By all means, you can lay claim to all my hypothetical waltzes."

"Won't giving me all your waltzes be a disappointment to all your other suitors?"

"That is how much I do like you, though Merlin knows why. You'll always be in my top ten."

He chuckled: "And I'm the one who is conceited, Monsieur Dumbledore. But that is part of your charm too…" After a pause of looking intently at me he finished: "I'll take you on the offer. Now you owe me all your waltzes."

I blushed and sat down: "We have to win first. So now, if we can go back to the actual method of defeating the death curse: let us start by defining what a spell is. And here we find the first hurdle because, even though all magical scholars agree spells are the very heart and soul of the practice of magic; that is about the only thing they agree on. In regards to the nature of spells opinions vary greatly. We have not reached agreement even on the appropriate usage of words like: charm, incantation, curse and spell. Most books on the subject have rather vague definitions that render a methodological study virtually impossible. For we cannot seriously study something if we are unable to define it properly. Hence we will dispense with the somewhat vague, metaphysical and even esoteric definitions we would likely find in conventional textbooks and we will use one upon which we can build an actual experimental model that can be tested against reality. For that purpose we'll review the properties of spells and their observable effects to try to figure out what type of phenomenon they are. Finally we will go about reviewing these phenomena, all with a focus on the unforgivable curses."

Gellert Grindelwald chuckled: "My word, Albus! You have really been thinking about this. I feel ill prepared to face such a dissertation so early in the morning, here in the middle of the forest."

I laughed goodheartedly: "Monsieur Grindelwald, false modesty ill becomes you. I'm sure you've thought about this much more than I have. And I am not trying to give a dissertation but walk you through the train of thought that I have followed and that has persuaded me that you are right and that Avada Kedrava can be defeated."

"Very well then, just let me grab another cup of coffee and I'll be ready to follow you wherever you want to take us, my friend." He refilled his tin cup, sat down on the grass, patted the space besides him and nodded: "I'm ready."

I sat down facing him, keeping a comfortable distance: "First let us agree that spells are natural phenomena. They work within the rules of nature and these rules are cognizable and always the same, or else you could not learn them or teach them to others in any significant way. Magic would be random or chaotic, you'd never know what outcome to expect when you cast and that is not the case. If I cast Alohomora on a door that has no counterspells or additional protections, I will always open the door, not turn it into a canary."

He chuckled again and said: "Agreed."

"For the sake of this discussion let us leave aside, for the moment, Alchemy and Transfigurations. We could base such choice on centuries of experience which give us the intuition that such arts handle magic differently than spells and charms. Also, I will take as an axiom that magic is a form of energy manipulation for the sake of brevity. I could go back and work through that, though, if you want to."

"There is no need to, I'll accept that magic is in essence energy manipulation. I know Durmstrang has a reputation for favoring the Dark Arts but we are not stuck in the Dark Ages, we do study modern Magical Theory. As you know our founder Headmistress Nerida Vulchanova was one of the first to push for secularization of magical learning and founding a formal study of magic on the spirit of Aristotelian empiricism back in the 13th century. Besides, I cannot imagine how someone who calls himself a wizard can be ignorant of the basics of quintessence."

"Now I'm impressed. Are you saying that Magical Theory is a mandatory subject in Durmstrang?"

"No, it is an optional subject, much as everywhere else. But what I'm saying is that anyone practicing magic and not getting a proper education in regards to the theoretical support of that practice is not worth their salt."

I frowned: "And pray, tell me Master Grindelwald: how was I to know that you'd studied Magical Theory? I've blabbered unending about Hogwarts and the subjects I've studied but you seemed reluctant to discuss your time in Durmstrang with me in any depth. At times I get the feeling you don't want me to know."

"Why Albus, not at all, the only reluctance I have about sharing information on my school days is that you may find them as boring as I did. But if there is anything you want to know about my time at Durmstrang, you just have to ask."

"And I've done so, whenever I can think about something worth asking, but you have volunteered very little information."

"Here, let me tell you an interesting fact: before being deposed Vulchanova had architect Arnolfo di Cambio design Durmstrang's Dinning Hall. He is the same architect who did Il Duomo and Santa Croce in Florence. Our dome is enchanted to mimic the state of the sky above the school's caravel. As I've told you the school's caravel is often anchored somewhere in the North Sea so we get to see some very impressive storms while we eat. It is also considered good luck to get the sit under the Northern Star, the spot is sorted at the beginning of the school year and I got it for six years in a row, everyone was convinced I was cheating my way to the spot, but no one was able to figure out how."

I rolled my eyes: "Oh my, fancy that."

He cocked an eyebrow: "You already knew."

I nodded: "I've read _A Shady History of Durmstrang _and, despite the author's rather tendentious portrait of your Alma Mater and your Alma Mater's penchant for secrecy that tidbit about Arnolfo di Cambio is widely known. The tidbit about the Northern Star spot I didn't know. Another thing I couldn't have known anything about is your knowledge of Magical Theory. As you said Magical Theory is not a mandatory subject at least in the four Magical Schools I do know of, so the assumption that you hadn't studied it at all is not farfetched."

He smirked mockingly: "You could have asked me, instead of making assumptions."

I could have, but his insistence on focusing in minutia was getting on my nerves. I've never been a patient man, but back then I had an even shorter fuse. Elphias, there is no way to sugarcoat it: I lost what little patience I have and to punish him, I licked his cheek. A good wet lick with the whole surface of my tongue.

He frowned putting his hand over the wet stain: "What do you think you are doing, Albus?

Despite being a bit rash at times, this redhead does not hold grudges. I honestly think that forgiveness and my sense of humor, which allows me to laugh even at my own folly, has saved me from doing much more wrong than I have. I tend to forgive people almost as soon as they harm me. One hundred and fifteen years later I still wonder if that makes me wise or a damned fool.

I answered him with as much seriousness as I could muster: "Testing your salt's worth." I smacked my lips: "You are indeed quite salty. Why don't you add a sugar lump or two to that coffee of yours and then we can proceed after you've sweetened your disposition, Monsieur Grindelwald?"

He narrowed his eyes and leaned in: "Is that the level of discussion one can expect from the raising star of Hogwarts alumni?"

"I…"

"Honestly, I expected more of you, Monsieur Dumbledore."

I blushed to the tip of my nose which he then proceeded to kiss. One big slobbery kiss that was meant as nothing but mockery and nevertheless left me feeling butterflies in my belly.

It was perfunctory but I protested: "Gellert!"

"You started it. And for sweetening my disposition a fairy once told me you are far tastier than a lump of sugar." He ended leaning towards me once more. I couldn't help flinching and he laughed loudly.

I blushed some more and decided that the best strategy was to change the subject: "So were you cheating?"

"Sorry?"

"Were you cheating to get the Northern Star spot in the dinner hall at school?"

"Of course I was. How else would I have gotten it six years in a row? The probability of it is ludicrous. They said that they needed evidence when knowledge of the mathematical impossibility of it should have been enough to convict me. Idiots!"

"How did you do it? Magic lots and raffles are enchanted to be perfectly random. And you claim to have cheated from the first year onwards?"

With a mean smirk he said: "I'll let you try to guess how I did it."

"I cannot imagine what sort of spell could be used by a first year?! Wait, you weren't using Felix, were you?"

"No, that potion is dangerous, especially for me. I've tried it once out of curiosity and the world is not ready for seeing me being reckless. Besides, askew probabilities do not guarantee success six times in a row. My method does. Want to make another bet on it?"

"I haven't succeed with the bet we have outstanding, so no thank you. Goodness, you've used Felix. Is there anything you haven't done?"

He stared directly at my eyes and smiled suggestively: "There are a thing or two that I still haven't done and I look forward to."

I cleared my throat: "I seem to have lost my train of thought. Where were we?"

He smiled brightly: "You were schooling me on the nature of spells, Professor Dumbledore."

I frowned at the name, but I had been calling him Master Grindelwald since he began my martial training so I couldn't very well protest: "You seem to have a firm grasp on it, so I'll get on with it."

He looked at me contrite: "Oh Albus, you said this was an apology of sorts, so there is no need to rush. I'm enjoying myself with this little…hmm… interlude." He flickered me a quick smile: "I promise I'll be a good boy from now on."

"Well then, as long as you promise to behave, I'll continue."

He nodded grinning like the cat who ate the canary: "Please do."

"Very well, you must agree that the most cursory review of the nature of spells will let you know they share the characteristics and properties of wave phenomena."

"The most cursory review?"

"Well the most cursory review of spells will show that they have frequency, wavelength and are subject to refraction and diffraction… In short the same characteristics of oscillatory phenomena studied by Muggles and wizards alike since the 17th century."

"Studied by some wizards. Most wizards don't care about how magic works, they just want to swing a wand mutter something and voila, clean dishes. Their ambitions and imaginations can't reach further."

"Yes, well, those wizards can never hope to defeat Avada Kedavra. But fine let us say that some wizards are well aware that spells are oscillatory phenomena. Do you agree, Monsieur Grindelwald?"

He nodded: "I agree that you and I are well aware that most of the spells and charms are waves. I know it pains you but most wizards favor ignorance."

"That is a harsh statement and I fear unsupported."

"Fine, in my experience most people favor ignorance. Even Muggles, most don't care how a train works as long as it is useful. The world is full with blissful fools. We could forget all about them save for the fact that we are searching for a method that works even for blissful fools."

I sighed: "I do remember. What I don't understand, Gellert, is: if humanity deserves such a poor opinion from you, why on Merlin's green Earth are you devoting your life to saving it?"

He stood up and took a few steps towards the river. I stood up too and followed him.

He turned around and smiled: "I have a poor opinion of humanity in the current state of affairs and the highest hopes for the future of mankind, my friend. I think that there are few worthier endeavors than dedicating my life to guaranteeing that we live up to those high hopes I have. This world will be better than I found it before I leave it. That is a promise I intend to keep."

I looked up to him and got lost in those changing mismatch eyes of his.

He chuckled passing both hands through his hair as if he needed to occupy them somehow: "Albus, when you look at me like that it is really hard not to kiss you."

I couldn't help smiling: "When you look like this it is really hard for me not to kiss you."

We kissed, slowly at first and more urgently as the kiss deepened and turned into something else, the invasion of his mouth mimicking another, more desired intrusion. For once it was I who managed to stop. Catching my breath I muttered: "We still have an outstanding bet."

"You know there was not such bet."

"I still want to honor it."

"Then make it quick, Albus."

I smirked: "I thought I was entertaining you."

He sniggered looking at my disheveled chemise: "My mind seems to have wandered off."

I should have composed myself but I didn't. I left my clothes in disarray: "Ah, then I'll give you the summary. Did your Magical Theory classes included Wycliffe's laws and the Ballyhoo's Strictures?"

He nodded impatiently: "I'm familiar with both, yes."

"Well then we can skip right into the nature of the rays that compose the spell, because you do know there are two of them, don't you?" His collar had come undone too and on a whim I purposefully traced my fingers from collarbone to collarbone.

* * *

"I honestly think that the dragon thingy should be here somewhere."

Hermione and Ginny shushed Ron in unison.

* * *

"Bloody hell, Albus! Yes I'm aware there are two rays involved. One high energy concentrated coherent high voltage electric ray subject to almost no diffraction or refraction outside of the visible spectrum that kills you and another in the green spectrum that stuns you. That is why normal shields or counterspells don't work. Contrary to what Muggles believe there are waves that travel without a medium. Or better said that vibrate by themselves and that can be affected and draw power from quintessence."

I'm not sure if you are aware, Elphias that the laws of Electromagnetism by Clerk Maxwell weren't widely known back then, not even among non-magi. Light was not recognized as wave until the 20th century. And the concept of laser beam wasn't going to be used until the 1960s. But we wizards could cast them and had some intuitions about them. Though I also must admit that Wycliffe so called law was merely speculative and not as rigorous as the one the non-magi scientist enunciated.

I frowned at him and tried to pull away: "That is cheating. You didn't let me explain myself!"

He didn't let go, he held me tightly in his arms: "That was what you were laboriously working up to. I should confess I've been reading your notes while you sleep. Incidentally you should use some protective spell. I worry that you are too trusting, Albus Dumbledore."

"I was operating under the impression that we were supposed to read each other's notes eventually. Though I also thought _noblesse oblige_ applied to your conduct, Earl Grindelwald." I turned my head away.

He began nibbling my ear and my neck: "I apologize for my indiscretion, curiosity got the best of my. Ordinarily I would have let you show off how brilliant you truly are, however I find myself at the end of my rope here. So you have exactly five minutes to finish this and tell me what countermeasure you have devised against the spell. And then we are moving this to the tent, unless you are willing to try the wilderness for once."

He said it so serious that I couldn't help chuckling: "Never! I still have a modicum of decorum left in me. Your rank may be higher, but I am the son of a gentleman and won't let you manhandle me in the thicket like a savage. At the very least wait until we are inside the tent."

"Oh Albus, your sense of humor is going to get you in trouble one of these days. And if you don't want this to be the day that happens, kindly expedite your exposition."

"Fine, the rays may not need a medium to excite, but being cast they do travel through one in very much the same way that lighting does. The energy creates a vehicle which Ballyhoo calls a modified fluid and that knowledge is where the key to defeating the spell lays. If you don't allow the vehicle to be created the curse cannot be cast. And air is necessary to create the vehicle so if you manage to cast a vacuum then the curse won't work."

The fluid that Ballyhoo partially identified is called plasma in non-magi science. They have a firmer grasp of particles and knowing that helps you better understand how with fewer particles the medium cannot be created. But we have had the ability of creating plasma channels since the 14th century. Vacuum came later, around the establishment of the Statute of Secrecy.

He looked at me approvingly: "You do realize that the energy necessary to create a vacuum that can stop Ballyhoo's semi-fluid in mere seconds is almost prohibiting."

I nodded: "If we were talking of purely physical mediums you would be right. You need to draw heavily into quintessence to be able to do it and that requires a high expenditure of magical energy which is only accessible to the most powerful wizards who can actually handle the energy without being killed… Unless you find a magical substance powerful enough to potentially hold the energy and the spells required to accomplish it. I've been trying to figure out what magical substance could be used and I have a few candidates, but I would like to hear your thoughts on it first..."

I was holding onto hope that my deductions were wrong and he must have read it in my eyes for he inhaled deeply: "Albus, you and I know that there is only one magical substance powerful enough to create such effect."

I smiled sadly: "Yes, dragon blood is not only useful to clean cutlery."

He scoffed: "You are never going to let that one go, are you?"

"It was a very palpable wound. I was somewhat mollified by the sense of superiority I had thinking that you had failed to see the connection between my studies in shield spells and my studies in dragon blood but you did see it, didn't you? Now all I have is a wounded pride."

"My commentary was not on your worth as a scholar, but about the sad state of magical studies in general." He frowned: "I must say that what prompted me to read your notes was concern of how you were handling the realization of what this implies. Since you told me that you have worked a couple of summers in Romania I have been dreading the moment when you find out."

I sighed: "I haven't done experiments of how much blood is needed to create and sustain vacuum and what sort of preserving and encasing spells may be required. Depending on the quantity it could be kept on a pendant. Would that be enough?"

I was grasping at straws, Elphias. Until the very last moment I just couldn't think about what Gellert was intending to do.

"I've done some experiments and I've found the best is to use an encasement about this size." He said showing me a space of roughly two pints between his hands: "Size affecting spells de-naturalize the blood but you can keep it in a space pocket with minimum detrimental effects. And a soldier can carry it in a back pack. All preserving spells can be imbibed in the encasing, the rest in the blood and it can be used the same as a talisman with next to none energy needed to kick-start it, even a child can do it."

"Do you really need that much dragon blood?"

"It is a case of better safe than sorry. The precise limit in which the spell would start drawing from you and not the dragon blood is hard to determine. That size is as little as I'm willing to try."

"How do you extract enough blood out to fill roughly two pints without killing the beast? Traditional extraction has to be done before the scales set in, so you can only use juvenile specimens."

He lowered his eyes to the ground: "I'm afraid there is no way of avoiding killing the beast."

A horrific realization struck me: "Wait, have you done it? Is that how your car is powered?"

He nodded somberly.

Wizards are usually spared the consciousness of what their magic imposes as cost to our world because a lot of the energy they use come from themselves. In this case I couldn't hold onto blessed ignorance.

I covered my mouth: "No! You've killed a dragon chick? Merlin's wand! But there are so few of them, less and less with every mating season… Ever since the implementation of the Statute of Secrecy the dragons have been at risk of dying out in absence of appropriate secluded places for them to mate and raise their young. And one of the few things all wizards seem to agree on is that we should protect them. There are sanctuaries all over the world. Their blood is said to be the same that runs through our veins. Some of our best wands are made from their corpses when they die as the heart is the only part that does not petrify. They are magnificent beasts that represent both the greatest heights and the pitfalls of magic!" You know how much I love dragons, Elphias, my voice broke: "And you've killed a chick for its blood! How could you, Gellert?"

"I've killed two, Albus. Obtaining the blood was secondary. Killing them was unavoidable. Some would even call it an act of mercy."

"For the love of… Why?"

"You don't want to know. And it is not something I enjoy remembering."

I was horrified: "I must know! If there is any exculpatory or attenuating circumstance, pray tell!"

He sat down with a smirk: "I see you have already judged and condemned me. It is clear to me this isn't going to end in the tent. I know it is not the best way to start the day but I need a drink. I need it badly, if I'm going to tell you this." He took a flask from his sack and poured some liquor in his tin cup: "Do you mind?"

I denied, sat and then I silently presented my own tin cup. After some hesitation he served me a mouthful. I raised an inquiring eyebrow.

"It is a strong proof spirit. It was my Opa's favorite Kräuterlikör: a half-bitter called Schwartzhog. The herbs and the sugar give it quite the kick. Drink it with caution."

"The amount in your own cup doesn't look like caution."

"Believe me, for telling this story, I need it. I can hold my liquor. I also need you to be sober to listen to it. If you think that you can only listen to it drunk, then it is best that I don't tell it at all."

I nodded, downed the bitter liquor in one swill and felt it leave a burning trail down my throat.

He began telling his story: "It was during my fifth year at Durmstrang. I was working on the Lohner- Porsche in the forest where the castle had been temporally docked, since it is mobile and linked to the caravel it is customary to apply maritime terms to its land movements. It usually stays in the same place no longer than a fortnight. We had already been there five days and I had found a clearing and a cave that loaned themselves very well for my purposes. One afternoon, while I was working on the car I heard something and got out of the cave to find a _Windsau_ chasing a couple of Horntail's chicks. A _Windsau _is a magical beasts that looks like a giant wild hog and that rides the summer storms in search for the young and the weak to feed on. It is as monstrous as its appetites. I thought that it was best not to intervene for Horntails are particularly dangerous and their hens are very protective of their chicks. But I soon realized the mother was not coming."

"Twin hatching in dragons is rare, the eggshell does not resist until they are fully formed so they are runts and the mother usually crushes one of the babies so that the other may survive. If the mother does not choose one chick over the other one usually dies because the other nest mothers won't feed them. Dragon chicks are voracious and the effort of feeding two chicks for a single female dragon is overwhelming. Hens organize in flocks, especially during the mating and chick seasons. They take turns looking over the nest. That these two chicks had survived together until the summer is a testament to their mother's strength and its love of them. She must have died and the flock abandoned the chicks before the human overseers could rescue them. Their natural magical defenses hide them."

"The chicks were cornered but they must have inherited their mother's braveness for, weak as they were, they fought the _Windsau _fiercely. It was an uneven fight with a very clear winner. I felt compelled to intervene. I chased the _Windsau_ away and the chicks laid there, nursing their wounds. I should have left it to Nature's designs, but I couldn't leave those plucky little Horntails. I was sure they wouldn't have survived alone." He exhaled heavily: "I don't have your tender heart, Albus, I'm a realist. But I'm not indifferent to suffering. I knew that I should have reported them; but we were miles away from the nearest sanctuary and you know what happens to dragons that escape, especially if they are sick. No one will risk a dragon pox outbreak, just on a suspicion the chicks would have been euthanized. I decided to do whatever I could do to give them a fighting chance during the next ten days that the school was going to be docked there. And at first it seemed to be working."

"But you said you had to kill them and now you are saying that you looked after them which is it?"

He swung his head sadly: "Both, I tried to give them a fighting chance but they were too far along the path to oblivion and I only had a few days. As time went by and it became evident that they needed far more care than I could give them, I had no choice but to expedite their journey. Leaving them to their luck in the forest would have been crueler. And then I realized that their sacrifice could serve a greater cause. I cut their throats and let them bleed on a wooden bat while I cast conservation spells. I've told you that revolutions need founding, I also desiccated their corpses and sold whatever parts could be of use before they could petrify. The younger they are the longer it takes for petrification to start, nevertheless, I had to work on the corpses for hours. I missed the curfew and had to sneak in. I went directly to the water closet and vomited my heart out. Then I went to my room and ordered a bath so I could try to get myself clean. Thankfully Durmstrang allows you to retain your own service so it was only Karl and Vladislav who saw me covered in sweat and blood. It is my belief that what Lady Macbeth felt washing her hands, I felt washing all over. Scalding water was not enough to erase the traces of what I had done. I'm not proud of it but I did what needed be done."

I held myself: "That's an awful story."

"It is, and it gets worse. As I began using the chicks blood I came to the realization of just how powerful dragon blood can be. That is when I figured out how to best use it as a weapon. Of course I cannot ask anyone to do what I did, adding the sin of killing the beast just to procure the blood. It is a burden I'm willing to undertake on my own."

"Yes but at what cost? Do you know just how many chicks are alive today?"

"Of course I do, your Ministry proudly publishes its comparatives to other magic nations as if they had laid the eggs themselves. I'm aware of the numbers and I know that building an army means the almost certain extinction of dragon kind in Europe. Even during a very good mating season only a handful of dragon chicks make it to the stage where their blood is usable and abundant enough for my purpose. And Albus, when I weigh it against saving mankind from the power that I saw unleashed in my vision, it seems like an acceptable loss."

"Acceptable, you find this acceptable, Gellert Grindelwald?"

"Yes, this is war, there are acceptable casualties, Albus Dumbledore. This is real, it is not a game and if you cannot stomach the reality of war, my friend, walk away right now. I won't reproach you. Even with an incomplete soul I'll go ahead with it. A part of me wishes you do walk away, because that would keep you safe. It will tear me apart, but I won't shirk away from my duty, not even for you."

I was a fool, Elphias. I read this and once more I wish that my horror and my indignation had prompted me to walk away and keep walking. But I've mentioned before I was drunk on pride and love. Besides I thought myself so clever that I thought I could manage that devil. And if he could go onwards with an incomplete soul, I certainly couldn't. I wasn't nowhere near the point in which I could leave him. I don't know that I ever was.

I smiled proudly: "What if I told you that it doesn't have to be so? That there are ways of bloodletting adult specimens while causing them no harm?"

"I've never heard of that having been done. Most think adult dragon's scales are impenetrable."

"My Ministry has some dumb characters in it, but not everyone is an idiot, Gellert. My experiments and papers on it are kept by the Master of Mysteries himself. Think about it, my friend, do you think me capable of bleeding dragon chicks to test all the properties of their blood?"

He looked at me thunderstruck: "No I don't. You even hesitated to kill a Fire Crab."

"Well, an alchemist friend of mine helped me device a way of doing it and you are right now standing in front of one of the few wizards that can and has successfully taken blood from an adult dragon without being killed by it or harming the beast. If I were willing to sacrifice one big Ukranian Ironbelly female, I could probably extract about 200 or 400 gallons of the roughly 800 they have. Is as much as can be gotten. With a gallon being one eight of a pint, accounting for some loss, I conservatively estimate that you can outfit a three thousand strong army with your talismans. But, since you plot for the long run, I could bleed a flock of say four or five Welsh Greens regularly for you. I could also train people to help you set up your own clandestine sanctuary. It won't come cheap, because getting a suitable place and fertilized eggs on the down low, not to mention the upkeep of the creatures, could draw a sizeable chunk from your family fortune. Of course you'd have to pace the purchases not to be noticed. But with the time machine, I'd probably have everything set up in a couple of years. While they are still chicks, we could manage them on our own. But you would need to employ at least five caretakers from the second year onward. My guess is it would be worth it if you end up with an army that can conquer you the world. Even if I weren't willing to follow you, I would aid you set this up just to save the dragons." I faced him and pleaded: "Please Gellert, don't kill the dragons."

He laughed unhinged: "Bloody Hell, now I'm sure. I must be lying in some insane asylum dreaming about you and some grand quest while I drool on a pillow. You cannot be real! Though if you are a figment of my imagination, you must come from the best part of me. And of course you can have the dragons, they are my gift to you. Seriously, though, I'd never harm them unless it is unavoidable."

I chuckled: "How about I tell you something else you don't expect? Would it convince you I'm real?"

"I guess that if it is really something that I cannot foresee... It might."

"Well, there is something else you powerful seer haven't foreseen. I think we should indeed end this conversation in the tent, because…" I inhaled deeply: "I'm ready."

He looked at me cautiously: "What are you ready for? I need you to say it."

"I can't believe you are making me say it: I'm ready to take the plunge with you."

He didn't reply, he chartered me to the tent and for the next couple of hours we forgot about his war, my family obligations and the world at large. All that existed was the reality of our breathing, our heartbeats and our skins. We didn't need anything else.

I took the plunge and a part of me does not regret having done so, even with all that came to pass later on. That final surrender was final in more ways than one. So far I'd had only been infatuated with Gellert Grindelwald, but after that day I gave myself completely to him and his designs. After that day I was committed to loving him, madly. This is not hyperbole, I had willingly entered a _folie a deux_. It quickly reached a point, Elphias, in which if he had asked me to kill every single dragon in the world, I would probably had.

* * *

Ron Weasley growled: "We should burn them, we should burn these fucking diaries and throw the ashes down the drain. Now I know why he was so tolerant of Dark Wizards, he was one of them." He turned around: "Come on, mates! You have to see it now! For Merlin's sake, Charlie went into dragons because of this bastard... Wonder if he'd still see him all starry eyed if he knew…" He finished in a mocking tone that didn't hide his seething rage: "_Oh darling, I can't give you a ring, but here, I won't exterminate the dragons for you, snog, snog…_ It's disgusting!"

Hermione let out air despondently: "I'll admit this is a game changer. The mere possibility that this is doable is dangerous knowledge to put out there. Even with as little details as it gives it may be too much to risk it falling in the wrong hands."

"Thank you, luv. I'm glad you finally see it my way. I'll light up the fireplace…"

She raised a hand to stop him: "Despite the fact that I'm now more reluctant to make this material available to the general public, it does not necessarily mean we should destroy it. There are things to consider before doing that."

Ginny looked at her tilting her head and asked: "Huh, what do you mean?"

Hermione shrugged: "So far we have considered two courses of action, making them public or destroying them. But there are other options: we can curate them. We could decide what is made available and what not. We could only show a part, hide or destroy another. I agree that not destroying all means that we forever risk them being found, but there are ways of magically hiding them which reduce that possibility to a negligible amount."

Harry sighed: "I don't know. I'm starting to agree with Ron here. These papers are dangerous. Those guys tossed around ideas that make my skin crawl. And they seemed to be having fun while doing it. Worse is that sometimes it seems they did it just out of curiosity."

"Yes Harry, knowledge can be dangerous. But these notebooks could be a tool to achieve great things. What we are holding in our hands are the notes of two of the greatest magical theoretician that have ever lived, uncensored by the Ministry. You are just going through the narrative. I have gone through the diagrams and the essays, in a very superficial way, but that has been enough to make me realize the impact these papers can have. These push the boundaries of magic and question the paradigm that has been in use since the 17th century. These could singlehandedly bring magic to the 21st century and reconcile it with science. I think that is the reason why Mr. Doge couldn't bring himself to destroy them. We cannot in good conscious make a rash decision about them."

Ron gulped, his wife had already adopted the polite way Dumbledore used to refer to Muggles. And she was serious. She had the same steely look she had before facing Voldemort and his Death Eaters: "OK luv, we get it, we don't have to make a decision just yet."

Ginny turned to face Harry and held her husband's hand above her pregnant belly: "How are you feeling now that you know the method to defeat the curse?"

Harry scoffed: "Oddly enough, I'm feeling better now that I know what this needs to work. I couldn't have killed a baby dragon just too get its blood. Nobert was a handful, but the thought of it makes me sick to my stomach. And that was before I knew they were endangered. Now I feel bad about tossing around an egg like a snitch during the Triwizard Tournament."

Hermione corrected: "Don't feel bad. You didn't know. Besides, the dragon population has stabilized, thanks to the efforts of the Scamanders both Newt and Rolf -that is Luna's husband. Ask Charlie." Then she punctuated: "And the correct way to call baby dragons is: chicks."

Harry smiled, Hermione would always be Hermione. That was something to count on in a world that always seemed to be changing at an incredible speed, hard pressing him to keep up. Then he went serious: "I have to ask: Realistically, would I have been able to cast a vacuum if I'd known about this?"

Hermione frowned: "I don't think so. Maybe with one of those talismans they wrote about. I don't know that I could cast a vacuum now, even with dragon blood. I probably wouldn't even try. It is not only about skill or power. Now I wish I had taken one more subject. I never took magic theory, it seemed too, well theoretical. So, for what I know of quintessence, even while tapping into it you have to give up some energy yourself. Drawing so much power could kill you, unless your body is able to stabilize it. I wouldn't dare try it without knowing how to deal with it. I don't think I know enough Arithmancy to figure out the equations on my own. I'd probably understand some of it if I read it. I wouldn't know where to start looking for it. I'm focused on legal studies nowadays. Sorry..."

Harry nodded pensively: "This doesn't explain why the curse didn't work on me either, does it?"

"Not it doesn't. I don't know enough about lasers or ancient magic to really understand how that worked. It may be that Dumbledore wrote something about it in another part of the papers. I could look for it, if you want me too. It'll take time, some of these are written in languages I don't recognize."

Harry denied, feeling more at peace: "That is OK, Hermione. You have your exams, I have mine and I'm not planning on facing an unforgivable curse any time soon. But if I do, I'll take Dumbledore's advice. He did use a statue to handle Voldemort's curse when he faced him in the Ministry. I've gotten fast with the wand, I'll manage."

They all seemed to sink deep into their own thoughts, so they decided to call it for the night.

_AN: OK, prepare to be ravenclawed while I reminisce my Dungeon Master days when I had to come up with statistics for fantastic beasts, 'cause I liked to use obscure folk tales to embellish my campaigns. Feel free to skip: to put in perspective my estimate of how much blood an Ukranian Ironbelly has: a Labrador dog has about 10 pints of blood circulating, an African Elephant has 65 gallons of blood. The best studies of blood volume vs body volume in really large animals -that you can access for free- have sadly been done in whales courtesy of the whaling industry. Those basta… I mean gentlemen, are interested in fluid loss during flensing (separating fat and skin from a carcass) and they need a basal to compare. Depending on whale species, they have numbers ranging from 10 to 20 percent of the body volume being blood. I'll be conservative, go low, and chose 13 percent, basically because I love prime numbers. Granted mammals may not be the best approach to guesstimate a reptile, but I'm assuming dragons are hot blooded so circulation would probably be closer to us. JK doesn't give precise measurements, but a large African elephant weights about 7 tons a blue whale weights around 200 tons. Terrestrial animals are capped by gravity. Let's say a really big dragon weights about 3.5 elephants: 25 tons, converting that to gallons it is approximatel__y__ 6,000, 13 percent of that would be 800 gallons. I think that sounds about right for an animal that can wreck a brick house. Is it wrong of me that I really, really want a dragon in my backyard?_


	16. El Gato's Lair

Chapter 16 _El Gato_'s Lair

"_The future belongs to hearts even more than it does to minds. Love: that is the only thing that can occupy and fill eternity. In the infinite, the inexhaustible is requisite. I encountered in the street a very poor young man who was in love. His hat was old, his coat was worn, his elbows were in holes; water trickled through his shoes and the stars through his soul. If you are a stone, be adamant; if you are a plant, be a sensitive plant; if you are a man, be love."__ Victor Hugo (Les Miserables 1862)._

_AN: La Escondida is a feminine adverb meaning secluded or hidden. In Spanish The Hidden can stand alone as the subject of the phrase, an__d it__ works at other levels too, because you are leaving out the thing that is actually hidden… only those in the know, know. What is hidden is the court of mischief, in Spanish la corte –the court- is a feminine noun. The next words are plain English, but my sis claims that only people obsessed with all things Victorian know them, so here you go: Convivial society and amorous concourse are polite Victorian euphemisms for having sex. If it were Gellert I think he would be more humorous and say something like blow the grounsils or basket-making, but me thinks Albus would be more circumspect when addressing his old bachelor friend Elphias. A brougham is a four-wheeler, enclosed one horse carriage with two center doors, front and side windows and an outside perch sit for the coachman -a dickey box- which came with square lanterns and usually ended its life as a hackney cab when its affluent owners got tired of it. Bet you've seen one if you'd ever watched any TV show set in the 1800s. The Clarence brougham or growler is a larger version, requiring typically a two to four horses pull team. As for a fancy dress ball: don't be fooled by the name, it is a masquerade. So if you show up looking really sharp and the theme is Gods of the Cthulhu Myths, you may end up feeling a bit off. Costumed affairs were big in Victorian Age, but I've also seen this term used in modern age. All Hallows Eve is not mentioned anywhere in the fic, but I do have the guys in disguise and that is this Goth's fav holiday so: Samhain blessings to ya all!_

After Gellert and I had laid out the tactics we planned to use to make an attempt against the magical world, we went back to his family home in Málaga's English cemetery to accomplish the next step in the scheme. We drank some more Polyjuice Potion, and, when we had once more donned on the looks of the bellboy and the Swabian, we went out to establish the cover identities we needed to successfully infiltrate El Gato's Lair.

Imaginative bookworm that I was, I had pictured myself as the protagonist of one of Anthony Hope's novels, perhaps even the Rudolph of his _Prisoner of Zenda_; but to my surprise establishing a cover identity involved the far more pedestrian expedient of taking the waters in Bath. That was the place were well-to-do wizarding families went to rest from the excitements of the London season. Back then the Wizengamot convened at the same time the Muggle Parliament did, so the London season was pretty much the same both for Muggles and Wizards. Regardless, the usual places of gathering did not coincide for there were many voices calling for a more astringent application of the Statute of Secrecy after a long period of relaxation during the last decade of the 19th century, the naughty 1890s. As Muggles had begun steering away from the old Roman baths to pursue newer forms of entertainment, wizards had begun to take over the place. And it was there that we went to make our mark of infamy among the affluent, playing the role of young scandalous foreigners.

Upon arrival in Somerset we were met by Vladislav, Gellert's vampire valet, and Karl, his house elf. Vladislav had purchased us both sumptuous summer wardrobes to aid us get into our characters of Austrian dilettantes. He was dressed to play the role of high-end manservant, even Karl had quit the double-headed eagle banner and was wearing a flag with a rampant lion. One of his ears appeared to have been marked, it was a magical illusion and that goes to show Gellert's commitment: he even thought of disguising his house elf. As usual Vladislav's taste was impeccable, the clothes he had picked for us were quite elegant and just risqué enough to make exotic foreigners of both of us. I swear that if I have even a smattering of fashion sense in me is all thanks to that bloody vampire. That has persuaded me that we can actually learn something from every person we meet. That vampire could even make the bellboy look passable! And that was no small feat, my good friend.

There is nothing like the right costume to let you properly get into a character. Ask anyone who has experienced the transformation during a dress rehearsal or a fancy dress ball and you will understand what I mean. It only took the right suit to get me ready to play the debauched, entitled, brat. You are one of the few, Elphias, who knows about my love for the stage. There is an aspiring thespian inside your friend who enjoyed playing the pretense which the situation required. If it hadn't been for the dreadful role I was cast in, I would have fully enjoyed it. Unfortunately the dreadful back story was integral part of the plan. We spent a few weeks in Bath making sure our identities could be verified by _El Gato_'s agents if they were to make inquiries. It also served to get our act together. When you are set on deceiving professional deceivers, you need to train well in the act of pretense.

Once we had established convincing personae, we fetched the carapace and set out to the small village of _El Chorro_, one of the quietest stops in the railway line that came into the city from Córdoba. We wanted to board the train somewhere secluded and pretend to be newcomers to Málaga. We boarded in _El Chorro_ station unmolested by the few farmers, the shepherds and the couple of goats that made their way to the third class coaches without even looking at us. We were spared the typical Muggle small town curiosity thanks to the guard spells we had cast. We traveled in the first class coach, our cover story demanded that we looked wealthy and spoiled. Besides, whenever possible, Earl Grindelwald, preferred to travel in style and comfort.

We had guarded ourselves against Muggle curiosity, but we had made no effort to hide from wizards. Under the guise of the Swabian, Gellert had secured rooms in a beautiful 1821 building located right in the middle of Calle Larios. We made a boastful display of arriving to the most fashionable wizarding neighborhood in Málaga. And I could spot at least one shady character that took notice and went to report we had arrived.

We were still ostentatiously unloading our luggage when another shady character came to spy on us in a closed coach that could barely fit his brutish frame. This one gave me misgivings, he was a Goliath of a brute, obviously a half giant and _El Gato's _betrothed_, _who had earned the moniker of _Almaprieta_ on account of his blackened soul. He was well known by his murderous reputation. I had also recognized him by the bandit bandana, golden earrings and huge pistols that he wore with total impunity right in the middle of the street. Granted, the Muggles couldn't see him, as half giants are usually good at magically concealing themselves -they have to be with their size- but in London the guy would have been detained by Aurors on the spot, if he had dared walk around armed with what could only be illegally modified Muggle weapons. On that alone he would have landed in Azkaban.

_El Gato_'s worst half hadn't met us in London precisely because there was a price on his head. _Almaprieta_ was hunted by Aurors in nine different countries and the gallows awaited him in all of them, in fact he had already been hanged in effigy in France, after a sad affair in the Maladeta Mountain on the Pyrenees which ended with a _Dahu_ sanctuary being destroyed. _Almaprieta_ killed the two herds and their four caretakers after they had refused to pay for what his kind called protection.

_Dahu_s are magical creatures that have been subject to a lot of attention from the non-wizarding community recently due to a pair of wizard pranksters that had made the goat like creatures visible to the unmagical eye. Of usual _Dahus_ look just like normal mountain goats, it is only to wizards and a few unfortunate non-magi that the fact the creatures have legs of different lengths is revealed. After the prank the French Ministry's Magical Creatures authorities were forced to relocate some herds from the Alps to the Pyrenees. Having them killed by that tug was a hard blow.

You must remember, Elphias, how sensational the case was: the _Dahu _caretakers –two witches and two wizards- had been skinned alive, their skins hung like banners to the wind, such dreadful show of barbaric violence had made it to the Sunday edition of the Daily Prophet. The bodies had not been found and there was talk of hags being involved in it. Those poor families.

Gellert had showed me the poster offering a reward for information leading to his arrest outside the public owlery in Bath. It is often the case that these fugitive pictures are taken under dire circumstances, so they are seldom flattering, but in this case the portrait did justice to the real hideousness of the man. The poster also advised the reader that he was not to be approached under any circumstance and that the Aurors were authorized to use the killing curse upon sighting him, which attested to how dangerous the brute really was. I've never been a coward, but I have to admit that I was weary of the man, amidst all the fun it was easy to forget that we were preparing to face the worst.

The chap was trying to hide his presence from us, rather unsuccessfully, inside a huge brougham growler. The badly scratched sides, with a faded coat of arms, spoke of it being in all likelihood stolen from the original owner. I don't know whose taste it was currently fashioned to flatter, but it was a gaudy carriage in red and black lacquer, the size of a stagecoach, with bilious green lanterns and golden axletree and wheels in the poorest taste. It was driven by a boy who I'm pretty sure had hag's blood. Or as sure as one can be on such matters. Truth be told, it is the only male hag or half-hag that I've ever seen in over a hundred years, so I might have been wrong. What I can swear is that the boy on the dickey box wasn't entirely human, for he had long black fingernails, a greenish complexion, pointy teeth and a low-browed fearsome mien.

The green boy growled in response to something _Almaprieta_ had said in a language I couldn't identify and, after the half giant replied equally curtly in Spanish, off they went. I can bet my last penny that the greenish boy wouldn't have been able to handle the mounts if it hadn't been a four Thestrals team pulling the growler. Normal horses would have never tolerated being close to that pair.

Once they think of the… for the sake of propriety let us say implications of it, most wizards do realize that half giants, half hags and even half vampires are bred through magic. Given the obvious differences in size, strength and nature such unions are never, ever naturally occurring, at the very least they require the use of potions to facilitate the physical union, if not potions and spells to bend the mind of one or two of the parties involved. Leaving the purely physical challenges aside, we all know that wizards and other magical beings have little love and not much respect for each other.

On the societal side of the question, those unions are never encouraged. Magical beings are dangerous, even Veelas, who are thought as more amenable can turn deathly. Not to mention how much you can debate the actual amiability of beings that punish their lovers' betrayal by making the traitor dance to the death. Pair that with the laxity of their traditional laws as to what actually constitutes betrayal, which includes receiving gifts from another, looking or being looked a certain way by another and you'll understand why such unions cannot be entered carelessly. Even Muggles have tales about these creatures extreme jealousy as part of their folklore. I don't want to cast the first stone in regards to jealousy, having been favored with a couple of lovers that others seem to covet, I understand the Veelas' pain though I don't condone how they deal with it.

I fear in most cases the reasons for such wedlocks is pursuing magical prowess for the wizarding partner and for the being partner it often comes down to the convenience of having offspring who can pass as being of wizarding stock, which warrants access to benefits that pure being status does not grant. Even though the offspring of such unions often faces a fair amount of discrimination, the advantages for the being side of the pairing may offset the disadvantages. And sadly some wizards would do about anything in pursue of power. You'd be surprised what a family in which a squib has been born is willing to do to strengthen the bloodline. Which is probably why in despite of discouragement unions with magical beings still happen.

There is even mention of mixing with creatures. Through Merlin we Dumbledores have faced accusations of having fairy blood in our ancestry. My mother, who was a distant relation of my father and had an affinity with the good folk, helped stock the fires of scandal by being friendlier towards the creatures of the moor than to her neighbors. My good Elphias, I cannot fathom how someone would enter convivial society with an un-sentient being. However, with what little I know of the Dumbledores of yore and the rumors about my own brother and goats, I won't put my wand over the fire and swear that the rumormongering is unsupported. To this day some still whisper that the reason of my power is precisely that unholy union, behind my back, of course. Gellert told me that his family -which has always been blessed by seers on both sides- had faced rumors about his Opa's great-grandfather taking a Harpy as a concubine. When his Opa had married his Nagymama someone had dared make a history repeating Harpy joke and Yelena Grindelwald had hexed them to kingdom come.

Going back to the issue of being and wizard unions. I know marriages of convenience also exist among wizards, but the issue of consent and true reciprocity of feelings becomes tricky when there are obvious hierarchical differences between the parties involved. In my case the suspicion of a measure of duress in any such dealing would certainly stop me from ever brewing a potion or casting a spell to facilitate said engagement. I have heard people claim that sometimes those facilitating spells are cast out of true love and for the sake of some very dear friends who have mixed heritages, I hope that is the case at least sometimes. Still, there won't be an easy answer in that respect, at least not until the idea that all sentient beings are to be treated equally is something more than an imposing marble statue in the Ministry's foyer. Until then wizards will bear the guilt and the shame of subjugating our fellow magical beings.

But, my dear Elphias, please don't ask me which would be the right way of ending that factual subjugation. I admit my ignorance of how to do it in a way that causes the least harm to all the parties involved… The questions are not trivial, for example: are we to respect the hag's habit of eating human children and the vampire's craving for human blood since those are part of their nature and cultural traditions? Not to mention that all the laws that we may pass in regards to granting rights to them would be deep down ineffectual for we cannot even guarantee full rights to our own citizens with the hindrances imposed by the Statute of Secrecy. I don't have the answers, all I have is the intuition that we should keep asking those questions until we find them.

My friend, I don't feel morally entitled to cast the first stone on the subject of conviviality with darkness, nor on the matter of being corrupted by ambition. Merlin knows I bear a fair share of guilt on both accounts... However, in the particular case of the half giantess that ruled over the Spaniard magical crime syndicate and her fearsome betrothed, you just had to look at them to know that love had not played any role in the brewing of the potion. The forces at work in those unions were dark indeed, but not necessarily only of a magical nature. An alliance of the giants with the criminal wizarding element made perfect sense from purely practical considerations.

The scattered groups of stubborn wizards and witches still calling Spain home had no organized form of government. The giant _bandidos _ruled unopposed in the high mountain passes of the country. That was true since the days of the witch hunts, for the demise of a Ministry of Magic in Spain had facilitated a rule by the force which some wizards and beings of nefarious intents profited from. Giants had no interest in having the rule of Magical law return to their country. Not even one third of the wizarding population favored rejoining the Magical conventions, which had prevented other nations from intervening in local politics.

I'm not naive, I'm also aware that, since there was little to gain for the would be saviors, the Spaniard wizards who would have wanted an intervention were left to their own devices. The crime lords guaranteed that wasn't going to happen any time soon by ruling with an iron fist. Love was not involved in the birth of the half giants that ruled in Málaga, nor in their subsequent union: it was a marriage of convenience between the strongest allies in the fight to keep Spain from integrating to the rest of the Wizarding World. Politics do make strange bedfellows, my good Elphias.

After making sure that we had been noticed, we went inside the house. Vladislav and Karl had gone ahead to set things up and were already waiting for us there, having prepared the lavish living quarters Gellert was used to. Apparently being undercover wasn't going to stop us from living in style. For the briefest of moments I felt a pang of regret at quitting the peaceful solitude of our forest training retreat. I had liked our life there. I missed the straightforwardness of it. And I also missed being alone with him. The intrusion of the world in our new found closeness was not something I welcomed.

Though returning to more regular accommodations meant less of an adjustment that I had thought it would. Gellert Grindelwald was shameless, the very next time we met he had left it clear to Karl and Vladislav that we were now sharing rooms and they all took it in stride. What luggage I had was moved to the Earl's chambers and that was that. Something which I, frankly, didn't quite know how to feel about. I was going insane wondering if that was business as usual in the Grindelwald's household. In all fairness, Gellert, guessing my discomfort after two days of seeing me twist into a tight knot, had mentioned that he'd never brought anyone else home. He also knew how to make you feel at home anywhere, so my doubts and regrets were fleeting and we were soon installed in an effortless domesticity, as if we had lived together for many years.

I felt as if I had been spirited away by fairies. I had trouble remembering home. It shames me, Elphias, but in all that time I had only thought of my siblings once, and that had been to regret being burdened with them. It was hard for the young love struck fool I was to resist the lure of it all. My growing feelings for Gellert and my lack of mundane knowledge worked against me, I was not able to separate amorous concourse from love. Not to mention that back then I felt my brother and sister were nothing but a cumbersome responsibility, one I had shouldered for more than one third of my life without receiving in exchange the least morsel of consideration, let alone affection. I was starving for intimacy and Gellert knew how to love so liberally and fully. How could I have resisted him? There really is no point in wallowing self-pity, especially this late in the game. Still, there is so much regret for what could have been… if only circumstances had been different.

Enough. Let us proceed. The rental had its own mews with stables and a carriage house, though we had decided to leave the Lohner-Porsche securely hidden back in the English Cemetery, for Gellert had thought it best that each of us carry a vial of dragon blood and that rendered the car unusable. He was hoping we would not need to use the blood because he wanted to keep the method to defeat Avada Kedrava a secret, but in the worst case scenario, we would have it as back up, and we could use the blood to empower other spells, though he instructed me sternly to use that as the very last resource.

Regardless we made good use of the mews because Gellert had told Vladislav to bring a carriage, mounts and a stable hand who was a centaur. Having a centaur serve in a wizard's household is rare, as they are proud and decry relationships which may mean a subordination to humans. They spurn our current understanding of what sentience is and, as far as the rights of sentient beings we seem to support go, they despise them to the point of refusing the legal designation of beings in favor of remaining creatures. I understand, up to a point, their posture of being granted equal rights or none at all, but I still think having some rights is better than having none. For my part I cannot treat them as anything but our equals.

The centaur -who Gellert addressed respectfully as Messer Hyperion- merely nodded in response to his courteous request of preparing the Tilbury for an after dinner excursion. Messer Hyperion, Vladislav and Karl all held themselves as proud members of the Grindelwald household. For those who wonder how Gellert managed to rally the aid of all manner of magical beings and creatures for his attempt at seizing power, here is what may be an eye-opening statement: he did it by treating them as people and promising to grant them the equality that we have so far denied them. He was believed even by Centaurs, who are not prone to fall for deceit, because in a way he really meant it.

I'm sure that even at his worst his intention was to treat them just as he would have treated all Muggles and all Wizards alike. Which is not necessarily good for in the end he was aiming to become a dictator. In any case his method worked so well that Lord Voldemort used it too, though in his case the deceit was more transparent and he only managed to rally the darkest of creatures by promising them free range in their more nefarious pursues. I don't know what you will decide to do with these diaries, Elphias, but, whatever you choose to do, this message is worth relying: if we keep mistreating other beings they will keep looking at us as the enemy and hence become allies to those who hate us.

Oh dear, I've turned into a sanctimonious preacher. The dinner before the excursion was delightful, with a hearty seafood chowder and herb filled fish cakes of red porgy and parsley with a creamy homemade tartare sauce and succulent greens bathed in virgin olive oil that made me realize just how much I had missed Karl's cooking. In Bath we had eaten out almost every evening, typically in gambling houses and houses of ill repute. I don't want to sound defensive, but let me assure you that all I ever sampled of the hospitality of those places was the food and beverage, which left some to be desired. That and the gambling.

Of course our main purpose in attending those places was to establish a dire reputation and to gain some resources for the cause playing whist. I'm rather good at probabilities and manipulating cards and with Gellert being a gifted seer who can play his hunches to an advantage, we were quite the unbeatable pair on the green mat. That was also the only instance in which I thanked the bellboy for his looks, people didn't want to get close to me and that was a blessing. To be honest the lost ladies and molly boys received my lack of interest in their charms with unabashed relief and I don't blame them, given the way I looked and the reputation I was striving to earn, I wouldn't have wanted me either.

I must admit that it took me quite a bit to get used to the fact that Gellert's appetites seemed unaffected by the bellboy's horrid looks. Until he allowed me a look inside his mind and I realized he was seeing me through the Polyjuice Potion and that was all the argument I needed. I was glad when he taught me the trick, because as pleasing as the Swabian's looks were, I much preferred him. I think that is my favorite definition of love: someone who sees you unwavering just the way you are.

The menu was delightful but we supped light in the house of Calle Larios, though I would have gladly had a second helping, afterwards we were to set out to _El Gato_'s Lair, so it wouldn't do to go with a bellyful of fish and potatoes weighing us down. I'm glad I ate moderately, or else I would have lost my dinner in the ride. I realized why Gellert required the services of a centaur stableman once I saw the beasts that were harnessed to the carriage. Few others would have been able to properly tend to winged bulls. Before that I had only seen them in magical encyclopedias. I can rightfully say that winged bulls are the most magnificent flying creatures I've ever laid eyes on. And I have spent many a summer working with dragons in Romania and with gryphons in Anatolia. Don't get me wrong, gryphons and dragons are magnificent beasts, but winged bulls are as if made to fly, one could go as far as to say they are flight incarnate, for their nimbleness and beauty in the air are unrivaled.

That is one small final regret, not being able to go on the holiday Farouk and I had planned this year. I was rather naive to think that I would be able to. I was hoping to still have time for one more journey, but things have precipitated since the Triwizard Tournament and I'm to be denied. I have much to do in so little time. Still, I had hoped that I would have a chance to climb the Dena Mountains and see the winged bulls in their natural habitat. I had received notice that an item I was looking for might be there. I wish Farouk goes through with our plans, even if they do no longer serve a practical purpose. See? My mind keeps wandering from the present to the past and even into a future that no longer concerns me. I guess this is just a sign that I've grown old, my friend. Or perhaps it's the curse. Despite Severus' good offices my hand is in excruciating pain right now.

Oh dear, there is nothing to be done about that, is there? We might as well never mind it. Where were we? Ah...Winged bulls look more like chevron coated antelopes than actual bulls. They have spiral horns, a hanging longitudinal flap of dark skin in the lower jaw called dewlap and four multicolored wings in shades of green, purple, yellow and terracotta, which look made out of shards of glazed ceramic but are actually made of the same compound that butterfly wings or fish scales are made: chitin. These wings and the way they work make them unparalleled fliers.

These beasts' wings are like those of a dragonfly: they move independently and can help them compensate the energy waste of the downwash and support considerable weight –besides their own- in nimble hover or engage in high acceleration flight, because, unlike bird wings that require air flow to lift, the improved energy usage allowed by the paired wings working in tandem or out of phase gives their flight dynamics the height of maneuverability. The four wings also allow them to dodge obstacles by changing direction with minute precision even at higher speeds. They can land and take off in narrow places and hover motionlessly for a long while due to energy conservation. They can fly down, up, sideways and even backwards. _Gilgamesh_ and _Enkidu_, as Gellert called his winged bulls, were gorgeous fearless specimens. And, like their master, they loved speed.

Wilts winged bulls are not what anyone would call docile, unlike dragons they are trainable and, unlike gryphons, they are willing to accept the harness. They are very intelligent animals and that is, perhaps, why in ancient Muggle representations of them you often see them sporting a human face. Mind you, Elphias, they are smart but not to the point of human intelligence. And yet, they are very gregarious and can develop a powerful bond with their owners and among the members of their pull team that allows them to obey orders with what appears to be telepathic precision. Once the bond with their master is established, they remain loyal to them until their death and obey as if they were a single being. So in the right hands a pull team of winged bulls is a force to be reckoned.

Back then I was fascinated by the mounts but a bit unsure about the carriage. We Dumbledores were never able to afford one of our own, but we had neighbors who could and I had grown up hearing terrible stories about Tilburies; which were said to be the worst kind of phaetons. Phaetons had once been quite popular. Being a single horse carriage with sitting at the most for two passengers, they were rather popular with adventurous young non-magi and wizards alike. For young wizards, since the price of Pegasus' eggs was near prohibiting back then due to the unrest in the Balkans, this type of flying carriage had fallen out of fashion. That was also in part due to the sleek carriages being perceived as dangerous, a bit like some people think of motorbikes nowadays. Phaetons were named after the reckless son of Greek god Apollo, who legend said had killed himself during a joy ride, after stealing his father's carriage.

I'm telling you this, my friend, because I know that back then your mum kept you well guarded against all sorts of dangerous knowledge, like that of sporty rides. Well, Gellert had a two sit open Tilbury with a pair of winged bulls and he drove it as recklessly as the scion of the sun god had. He could sometimes act spoiled as if that were his birthright, which probably was. And that should have been a fair warning, but I was as young as he was and grew to love even his recklessness. His lack of restraint and cockiness just made him look worldly and knowledgeable. The small town boy in me, who was desperately trying to find his rightful place in the world, felt drawn to those qualities which I saw back then as signs of the confidence I was sorely lacking and not as the weakness of character that they probably were.

Regardless of my leniency towards Earl Grindelwalds' wicked ways, I was feeling quite a bit upset when we finally landed in _La Escondida, _after what can only be described as a terrifying ride. Even disregarding my acrophobia, if you ask me, it had been unnecessarily acrobatic. I thought he was just trying to show off his skill at handling the carriage and he was, but not for my sake. He was trying to make an impression on the denizens of the Dark Arts market. I found out right away why that was a hard endeavor. Before I could protest, I was silenced by the sight of the second largest magical black market in Europe. The Spanish Dark Arts marketwas and still is something to behold. In its own terrible fashion it is a testament to the resourcefulness of man.

Even nowadays _La Escondida_ is only topped by the underground Czech _Katakomby_ Market. We had landed in a corner which was mostly out of the way; but the market's bustling activity was clearly visible from where we stood. It is humbling to realize how the business of evil always seems to be thriving. I also noted a purplish tinge in the air above us. That was when I realized why we had taken the winged bulls chariot. Winged bulls horns can, quite literally, ram their way through almost any type of magical barrier, there are very few things that can keep a winged bull from entering or leaving a place as they very well please. This place was protected by powerful shields. You must surmise that the winged bulls were there to facilitate our escape, if needed be, Elphias.

I wondered if Gellert was just being cautious or if he was expecting us to have to make our way out forcibly. As he pocketed the carriage and ordered _Gilgamesh_ and _Enkidu _to take fly but remain nearby; my hand went instinctively to my left pocket where I had the Alder wand with a Phoenix feather core that I was passing off as mine. I was thankful for all of the training, both in being inside the bellboy's skin and in combat. I was also thankful for the vial of dragon blood. One look at the dwellers of _La Escondida_ persuaded me that the danger Gellert had been warning me against was real.

It is said that only a twisted nature can conjure the will to kill necessary to cast Avada Kedavra effectively. That does a disfavor to the Aurors who protect us on a daily basis. I've known a few and they were anything but. I must also say that I don't consider myself a person who hates and, regardless, I have been pushed to cast that dreaded spell a couple of times in my life, quite effectively, mind you, even though each time left me feeling wretched afterwards. No matter how justifiable the law sees it to be, a part of me still believes nothing justifies killing another sentient being. But just as with any other human being, the less regard you have for the sanctity of life the easier it is to use killing force. The people of _La Escondida_ were used to being treated as if their life was worthless and, as such, they didn't put too much stock on the life of others.

For once I remembered home for something other than lamenting my misfortune. I feared for the siblings I had left behind and prayed that Gellert's precautions, which had seemed excessive at some point, were enough to keep them safe. I was making a bid against people who were resourceful and evil. As I said, we were playing a complex game of deceit, making good use of our time traveling abilities. We had built two sets of false identities to hide our own. The first we had set up by staying in Bath during the bathing season.

We'd kept lodgings near Dorchester Street for a few weeks. As Muggles had retreated, the place had become popular with well-to-do wizarding families and we socialized, and scandalized the good consciousness, under our assumed identity of wealthy Austrians who had until recently been in the continent and had to leave in haste due to some scandalous affair. I had been lamenting it for a couple of weeks and now I felt glad the character I had created had nothing to do with the real me.

I must say, though, that Gellert seemed to take a perverse pleasure of painstakingly painting my invented persona in a very grim light. Earl Grindelwald turned out to be very imaginative. I had thought we were only going to go around and look devious, but he said we needed to cultivate our ill repute through the use of calculated gossip. He claimed that without gossip one cannot gain a bad reputation except by doing actual evil deeds, and maybe not even then. Gossip is mandatory.

As first step we made our debut in the salon of a not so bereaved widow called Griselda Schaedlich, whose husband had died in suspicious circumstances leaving her enough of a fortune not to be completely shunned by society. Her salon teetered on the edge of scandal, some people who were still considered polite society attended it and some less than honorable characters were admitted too as long as they were deemed amusing by the charming hostess. Ms. Schaedlich found Monsieur Grindelwald posing as the Swabian extremely amusing. So she was chosen to aid us in establishing our ill repute. Of course when Gellert said our, he meant mine.

I was sorely tempted to send his imaginings as contributions to the periodical _Boys of England _and take my revenge by seeing his lofty family name printed on the byline of a low grade penny awful. For as much as I like the stage, I still cringe remembering the stories that he and the black widow went around telling to whomever would hear them.

To some they said I was the third son of minor nobility who had seduced the daughter of a Viennese bourgeois under false pretenses of offering her an uneven marriage. Given my looks, rumor had it that the girl was perhaps more seduced by my purse and family name than by my questionable personal charms. However the feat was accomplished the story said I had managed to convince the greedy girl to elope with me and, after making ill use of her, I had lost her in a game of cards to a man who passed her around the lowest of the low for a couple of farthings. Faced with that life the girl had drank rat poison and ended her misery. To add insult to injury her family had been unable to recover her body for, as a known suicide, she was denied proper burial in hallow ground. As Gellert told it, I had to flee the country after badly hurting the girl's father in the duel aftermath.

To others Gellert and Ms. Schaedlich claimed I was the second son of a wealthy family of the highest pedigree who had been destined for the cloth and had escaped the seminar in favor of pursuing a debauched life style, which better suited my cruel and twisted nature. My shameful sickness had been acquired while indulging unmentionable and disgusting vices, a list of which a lot of good consciousness took much pleasure in discussing in the greatest detail. The rumor was that as my condition deteriorated, my family had to send me into exile. I was accused of doing things that I often became acquainted with on the spot as people loudly whispered about them within earshot! You wouldn't believe half of it! Merlin knows, Elphias, I don't, some of it seems preposterous, given the anatomical limits of the human body. And if some of it is true, I rather remain ignorant of it. Let me tell you my acting chops were tested to the limit by remaining indifferent with all that was being said about me. It was truly hard not to look as shocked as I really felt.

In yet a third dreadful scenario, I was a military man who had to quit the army in shame after incurring in a bucket load of gambling debts that my parents had finally refused to pay. I'd capped the feat by hurting a fellow officer in a duel right in front of the brothel, where he had gone to arrest me for missing curfew. Rumor had it I had dueled naked save for a carelessly tossed dolman jacket over my shoulders. I was the subject of much public outrage for dragging the insignia of my rank and regiment quite literally through the muck in Adam's suit. The only reason why the Austrian Cabinet hadn't issued a warrant for my arrest for high treason was that my father was a very well connected officer.

The worst part was that not one soul doubted Gellert's aspersions. I know that no one knew me, but it still saddens me that everyone seemed so eager to think the worst of me just based on the bellboy's looks. Not a soul thought of giving me the benefit of doubt. The bellboy had the perfect looks for either of those stories to have been true. For all I know he might have been an innocent, but he sure didn't look like one. I looked the part of the villain, so it took only the barest whisper to convince everyone that I was. I learned in the flesh back then that we cannot trust neither looks nor gossip.

As for the part I had to play, I was greatly aided by some skills I was unaware of. I turned out to be rather good at witty comebacks and card play once I got the hang of it. Even if most comebacks were written in the note pad hanging from my neck. I relieved quite a few gentlemen of their monies and was borderline insulting to many who were terrified of dueling with me upon mere rumors of my skill. Reputation can be a weapon too.

Gellert and I made a quite formidable partnership in whist. I have a very good memory and a keen understanding of probabilities that gave me an edge in keeping tabs of the cards. By the end of my stint as a gambler I was left with a healthy sum in bank notes from Gringotts and even some Muggle banks all over England. I was willing to donate all to the cause, but Gellert insisted I kept half to handle my family obligations. Our gambling luck, coped with the rumors of me being syphilitic, meant that when the bathing season was done we were infamous. Nothing gets around as much as a tasty gossip about wealthy gentlemen.

The Swabian looks helped our endeavors too. I found myself constantly fighting bouts of jealousy at all the women throwing themselves at Gellert's feet, including the widowbird, who let it be known in no uncertain terms that the gentleman would be well received if he ever decided to quit the service of the disgusting Austrian pervert.

But the most terrifying part was that some supposed ladies and gentlemen of quality were… let us say intrigued by the character I was playing. Though I wouldn't be able to tell you what exactly they found fascinating about someone supposed to be a murderous debauched fiend. I chose not to get too close to any of them in order to find out. I had to make a real effort to keep those types at arm's length. It was obvious some of them wanted to get really close to the bellboy.

I mentioned it to Gellert when we were turning in to sleep after a particularly tiresome day in which one of the gentleman had made me a proposition that, despite not fully understanding, seemed offensive to me. Monsieur Grindelwald had explained to me what it was that the brazen sot had meant. Seeing my horrified face, he had laughed at my lack of _savoir-faire._ I endured the laughter and bit my tongue not to ask if he'd ever done it, it was better to let sleeping dogs lay. He laughed at my modesty vapors, as he called them, but, to his credit, from that day onwards, whenever he saw me making what he called my damsel in distress face, he came to chase the offenders away. And I thanked him from the heart because in most cases I was unsure of how to handle such advances without blowing our cover. Elphias, there is a foot for every shoe, regardless of how disgusting the feet and the footwear are.

The distasteful ruse worked well. When we had finally met in London with _El Gato_'s associates, under another set of assumed names, and they made inquiries on us, all they found were our first fake identities. We had chosen Austria as our assumed country of origin because Gellert knew the country well and spoke German fluently. Plus, if _El Gato_ were to send someone there to verify our claims, Gellert's associates would back us up. Of course the downside for me was that I wouldn't be able to speak. In Bath we had pretended that my disease had destroyed my vocal cords and the looks of the bellboy had warranted that not many wanted to be near me and those who did, well, they didn't want to talk, my friend. I communicated through a writing pad and I learnt to write very categorical, if polite, refusals. I'll admit that the setup had sounded too convoluted to be worth the effort, but Monsieur Grindelwald had insisted it was necessary. He said that if the crime overlady didn't feel confident on our false identities, she wouldn't meet with us. She was cautious to the point of paranoia. Paranoia was also Gellert's credo. But seeing what we were facing I was glad of all the precautions.

The half giant brother was expecting us, the betrothed was nowhere to be seen and that made me uneasy. The brother led the way to the throne hall, for that is what the room where Felicia Illescas granted audience looked like. Do you remember when we used to read Victor Hugo's description of that den of beggars and thieves called _La Cour des Miracles_, Elphias? I do, you had only accepted to read Muggle stories to practice your French and then you became as enthralled by the misadventures of _Quasimodo_ as I was. Well, this place was exactly like that, with every kind of criminal type and dubious character well represented among the underground courtiers.

The big square with market stalls where all sort of magical wares were offered could barely hide the soul wrenching shanty town surrounding it. The slums were just like I imagined from another of Hugo's book, the one which relates the misfortunes of _Jean Valjean_. The only thing that diverged from Victor Hugo's description was the huge magical tent in the center of it. The tent was made of a midnight blue canvas that replicated an astrological sphere, with constellations of silver and gold laid out over it. The luxury of the magic canvas was a loud cry alongside the obvious misery of the surrounding shacks. The tent was in true _El Gato_'s lair, the size of it pointed out at the huge space that it could house within its walls. That was the fortress for the criminal mastermind to keep an army for her protection.

A flock of dirty urchins dressed in tatters caught up with us and I felt Gellert tense beside me. He gave a coin in hand to the first few but when the kids overrun him he threw them a handful of silver sickles, which were all he had in his pockets, and the kids fought for them on the dirt.

The half giant protested that we wouldn't be able to do away with the pests if we gave them money. He said, and I quote: that sickles would go to the pockets of their handlers, all the little shits could expect of the loot would be some bread and water.

Gellert frowned: "At least they'll have bread tonight, and I'm sure one or two are smart enough to hide a coin from their…" He rose a mocking eyebrow: "What did you call them? Handlers?"

The half giant looked at him suspiciously and said that the really smart kids wouldn't dare try to hide anything. Gellert merely shrugged and looked at him haughtily until the chap moved onwards.

I smiled sadly at Gellert and whispered: "I can't blame you for not staying in character. This place is worse even than a novel by Victor Hugo."

He sighed and whispered back: "I shouldn't have, we are in serious danger here, my friend. But that such misery still exists in the world, especially among wizards, is a blatant proof against any idea of true progress. From the shambling walls of every shanty town in this world Hugo's genius words from _The Wretched Poor _resound loudly like a reproach: _So long as the three problems of the age- the degradation of man by poverty, the ruin of women by starvation, and the dwarfing of childhood by physical and spiritual night- are not solved; so long as ignorance and misery remain on earth, books like this cannot be useless_. When faced with this, the very least we should do is denounce it and offer whatever palliative compassion we can. But one of these days, I swear that I'll be in a position to do much more…"

Elphias, I trust so little my recollections of my time spent with Gellert Grindelwald after all that has happened. But a part of me still thinks Gellert had the right idea, he only went about the wrong way accomplishing it. It was times like that which made me truly love him. I had to fight the impulse of holding his hand as we made our way through the underground market. My fingers cautiously brushed his and he returned the caress with equal caution. The very air seemed filled with spying eyes.

_La Escondida _is a place where anything related to the Dark Arts can be found, from little known grimoires and tomes of dark arcane knowledge to cursed artifacts and the material components of blood curling rituals. The market had been concealed even before the formal establishment of the Statute of Secrecy and it had been protected by that slyness. The second largest dark arts exchange stood apart as an infamous no-man's-land, where not even the most fanatical inquisitors and witch hunters would dare set foot. The black market had always had its own law and, when I first visited it, the half giantess: Felicia Illescas Correa, aka _El Gato_, reigned there as the undisputed queen.

Straightening as much as the bellboy's body permitted me to, I walked through_ La Escondida_ and stood in front the imposing tent. Gellert went in first. I breathed in, steeled my resolve and mentally prepared for combat. I transposed the door of _El Gato's_ lair feeling like the warlock that I was still very much faraway from becoming, leaning heavily on the confidence Gellert had on my skills.

_Post Script: Yeah I know, half-giant Spanish bandidos? I couldn't resist that shameless cliché. By the by I'm Latina and my grandpa was born in Alicante and lived in Malaga, Spain (right until the bombings depicted by Picasso) so there is no hidden hook in that one. I just wanted the guys to beat some magic-resistance big evil -así bien maldito-'cause I like writing fight scenes. It is time to show off their training… I blame all the Kung-Fu movies I watched as a child. Who am I kidding? I still watch them. _

_Changing topic: I was so thrille__d__ to hear people were checking out the quote's source material that I had to put a quote from Hugo. I know Victor Hugo's novels, especially Les Miserables can be hard for the modern reader, the man rambles a lot; and yeah, the kettle is black. The 19th century is a bit like the late teens and early twenties of mankind, people were in conscious awe of the world, testing their newly acquired sense of self and agency. That showed in their eagerness to share each passing thought and impulse of self-discovery with the rest of the world. I think that is a good working definition of the Romantic spirit: let's share our inner life with unsuspecting strangers. Nothing is new under the sun._

_Anyways, even if you never read Les Miserables whole, please read Volume IV Book Fifth the End of Which Does Not Resemble the Beginning __Ch. IV A Heart beneath a Stone. It is a jewel. Whenever I'm feeling a bit down I read it, for it restores my faith in humanity. And if I ever begin to doubt that tales of romance can be anything but trite counter-dances of self-indulgence, I think about Hugo. His stories are not your average romcoms, but depict love that runs really deep. Hugo loved his country, his city and the people in it, enough to speak up against the injustice the wretched and the poor suffered even though he kne__w__ he'd have to leave all the things he loved the most behind for doing it. And that selfless, all-encompassing love is distilled in aforementioned Ch. IV. in odd bits and phrases that could each make it worth reading. By the by, back then some English translations had the title: The Wretched Poor._

_October 31st is my friend's Lefty birthday and thought he hated it growing up I think it is the coolest ever. He is my bro from another mo. So this chapter and the next which is going to be game changer are dedicated to him. Carnal, your gift will have to wait 'til next chapter but I wish you all the happiness in the world. __Voto a to'os los diablos, Lefteris, contigo he ido e iré, cada vez que se tercie, al infierno y de vuelta, MW._


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